


Red Strings of Fate

by Curreeus



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3459203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curreeus/pseuds/Curreeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Fryingpanfest on Tumblr as a gift for esbis at devalierite.tumblr.com, who asked for "multiple timelines or the red strings of fate, or maybe one where, after Prussia's dissolution he is reborn as a human and keeps meeting (and possibly befriends/falls in love) with Erzsébet."</p><p> </p><p>When Gilbert faded pieces of him scattered on the wind like shards of glass, pinning themselves to the most unlikely places.<br/>Whether those pieces still added up to a whole or not, Elizaveta wasn't sure - all she could do was collect them and see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gilbert

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esbis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esbis/gifts).



Death was something that Elizaveta had thought too much and not enough about all at the same time.

Of course she was familiar with the concept – blood and swords and war and the moment you skewered your enemy and watched the life exhale from his body; the soft drifting of her own people as they passed on from her, whether they were dying for her on a battlefield or slipping away from her in a hospital bed.

She knew too much of loss and war to not understand death.

But at the same time, it had never really been a possibility for her. She was too strong for the clutches of death to ensnare her like it did so many others, and the lives of her people thrummed eternally in her veins like one central heartbeat alongside her own, keeping her strong.

Once, she thought Gilbert had been strong too.

Once, she thought he was unstoppable, a force of nature, all wild white hair and bloodthirsty red eyes and flashing steel and the grin of the devil.

Now she knew better.

Now she knew that his fingers were soft when they traced her skin – sweet and almost reverent, like whispering silk. Now she knew that his lips were gentle when they pressed against hers, his hands tentative and loving when they rested on her hips. His words were feather-light when he whispered them into her ear late at night – soft promises that she was the only one he’d ever love, his sweet Elizaveta.

Their first kiss was full of fire, the passionate proclamation of an unstoppable force and an immovable object colliding and melting together.

Their last, though… their last kiss was like dying embers, soft and subdued and fading quickly.

Far too quickly.

Towards the end, he had seemed fragile in a way that surpassed a failure of flesh and bone and seemed to cling to his very spirit, suffocating him with the weight of several centuries’ worth of memories and pulling him down into the mire of a millennia of regrets.

He had started to cling to anything familiar and had begun to pray more and more, subconsciously realising that the meeting his maker had scheduled for him was drawing nearer and surrounding himself with a religion he’d long since deserted.

Not because he was afraid of being judged by the powers that be, but because it offered comfort, like a well-loved toy from childhood that still smelt like home when held close.

Latin Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s still slipped smoothly from his lips like he was made to speak them, and Elizaveta supposed in a way, he was – his people may have spoken German but he was born with the “Amen” of a knighthood that had taught him bloodshed and death were the work of God.

It hadn’t surprised her when he’d asked her to come with him to the Order that morning, and she’d known when she’d had to almost carry him down to the church that he wouldn’t be coming back.

But there, as she watched him stumble and fall on legs too weak to support him as he walked to the altar…

It was then she realised that she wasn’t ready for him to go.

He was too light in her arms as she held him, as though there was little of him left and he was just a hollow shell pretending to be whole. He smiled up at her with a tiny twitch of his lips, a ghost of his usual grin – a lie that tried to tell her “I’m fine.”

It was meant to reassure her.

Instead it just broke her a little more.

His hand was cold where it was clutched in hers, but she didn’t look down at it for fear her composure would break when she was able to see the green cotton of her skirt through his arm.

He wasn’t dying, like so many of his people had before him.

He was fading.

Like a dream or a memory that no-one had any time for anymore; a nation that now existed only in history books that were gradually gathering dust.

An ageless idea whose age had come to an end.

Smiling weakly, he lifted one of his hands to her face, tracing her cheek gently, and though she could barely feel his incorporeal fingers she leant into his touch.

“Liz, you’re… you’re crying.”

She let out a sob, a sound she almost managed to disguise as a laugh and raised her hand to cover the one on her cheek, feeling a fresh wave of tears at the way she could feel it and then not, as though it were pulsing in and out of existence with his heartbeat.

His lone heartbeat.

His people were gone – he had no heartbeats beating alongside his own, no pull and push of thousands of lives keeping him afloat on the sea of time.

He had little left but scant moments snatched from the clutches of death.

Elizaveta took a shaky breath and squeezed his hand a little, trying to summon a smile – one last smile, just for him.

“Gilbert… does it hurt?”

He smiled, hand falling exhaustedly from her cheek to her lap. She didn’t even feel the impact when it fell onto her thigh.

“No. It just feels… soft, like when you’re going to sleep after a long day.”

He took a shallow breath through lungs that were refusing to inhale, smiling unseeingly up at the ceiling.

“I’m ready, Liz.”

She gripped his fading hand a little tighter, as though trying to anchor him. He just returned his gaze to her, red eyes soft and nostalgic.

“I want to go home and see Fritz, and everyone else. I’ve conquered all I was ever going to and I’ve done everything I was meant to. I’m meant to go, now.”

He coughed weakly, silver hair flickering in the candlelight from the altar.

“I’m going to miss you, and Lud, and everyone else. I'm going to miss you all so much, but… Liz, listen to me. If there’s a way…”

He stopped to take a breath, grabbing her hand in both of his and just managing to lift it a little bit.

 “If there’s a way for me to come back, I’ll find it. If there’s a way for me to see you again then I’ll do it. I won’t leave you.”

His eyes, glazed and unfocussed, slid gently closed, and she let out a genuine sob, leaning down and giving him a gentle kiss.

She felt the smallest smile on his lips, and she pulled back a bit and whispered shakily, not trusting her voice.

“I love you, Gilbert.”

His smile broadened a little, and he whispered back, his voice no louder than a whistle on the wind.

“I love you, Elizaveta, and I’ll love you for as long as this old world will let me. The eternal afterlife’s going to be boring without you.”

She smiled, giving his hand one last squeeze before she gently laid it on his chest, watching as his body faded, becoming more and more transparent until he was little more than a shadow lying on the stone.

 _Just like going to sleep,_ she said to herself, reaching up to brush his silver bangs away from his eyes and hoping he could feel it as her fingers went straight through them.

She could feel her tears dripping from her chin, and slowly, she sat back, closing her eyes reverently and taking a steadying breath, feeling the weight on her thighs lessen and knowing he would be gone soon.

She was almost startled when she heard his voice, small and quiet, as though it were echoing to her from several miles away. His hand, a bare trace of an outline now, slipped into hers, and though she couldn’t feel it she saw him trying to squeeze it.

“Liz, say a prayer for me. Please.”

She bit her lip, then nodded just slightly.

She had never been Catholic, not really, but she had heard enough of his prayers in the last few weeks to know how to start.

“Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

His weak voice rose slightly to join with hers, and for a few minutes that was all that mattered. Just the echo of two voices muttering a prayer older than both of them, wishing to delay the inevitable.

Just the echo of two voices uttering the final word together, one shaky but strong, one barely a whisper.

“…Amen.”

He opened his eyes one last time, giving her one last grin and taking a final breath, chest barely even there to rise and fall anymore.

Then, with one final sigh, what little there was left of him faded down to little more than his heartbeat, slowing and drifting away on the breeze.

_Thud._

_Thud._

_…_

_Thud._

There was a sigh, a whisper – one final grin.

Then he was gone.

Outside, nothing changed; the world continued turning, people continued to bustle by on the streets outside, the heartbeats of her people continued to echo alongside hers.

But in the silence he left behind, Elizaveta’s world shattered.

Part of her seemed to die with him, her chest turning cold and dead as his grin faded from where it had been imprinted on her eyelids, gone with merely a careless blink.

The church was empty, and there was nothing, just a clink as she shifted and her knee nudged something on the ground.

She looked down to spy something glinting, lying where it had fallen on the stone steps to the altar, and shakily, she leant down to pick it up, letting it fall into her palm.

It was an old, tarnished Iron Cross.

And it was still warm.

The first sob burst from her like a bullet, and the rest followed like an avalanche or a flood; unstoppable and immeasurable. She collapsed onto the steps, unable to deal with the crushing grief that swept into her lungs and made it difficult to breathe; the grief that constricted her heart and made her blood run cold.

He was really gone – not missing because he’d been hidden behind a wall that separated him from his brother, but gone. There was nowhere on this earth that he could be.

She was alone.

Her sobs echoed around the church, parroted back to her by the stone walls until she had no tears left to shed and she was just left with a pain that permeated her frame and refused to fade; a pain of loss that felt more real and close now than it ever had before.

Then she just sat – she sat until her knees went cold and numb from the stone floor, her aching eyes staring at the space where she’d last seen him as though it could bring him back.

But there was nothing she could do or say, no magic wish that could make anything better, so she just sat, listening to the world shrugging and moving on as though everything was alright when nothing could possibly be alright ever again.

She faintly registered the church doors opening and closing and footsteps cautiously approaching the altar, and a few moments later she felt a large, tentative hand on her shoulder and heard an even more tentative voice saying her name.

“Elizaveta?”

Ludwig.

She turned to face him slowly, taking in his unkempt state and red rimmed eyes as he sat gingerly next to her on the steps. She watched as he looked around the church before turning back to her with the one question she didn’t want to answer written all over his face.

_He’s gone, isn’t he?_

She opened her mouth; closed it again. Then she turned away, unable to meet that questioning blue gaze. Unable to tell him the truth.

She knew that he understood the answer in her silence when his shoulders hunched a little and his head drooped, and she knew that he was breaking apart by the short gasp he took trying to hold back his tears.

He spoke quietly, his voice wavering.

“I knew it was going to be today. I knew, and I came as fast as I could, but I didn’t know where you were and I… I missed it. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

His voice caught in his throat, and she leaned over, just barely managing to wrap an arm around his wide shoulders and smooth her hand up and down his arm.

“He was so, _so_ proud of you Ludwig. He was so proud of how strong you’d become, and he loved you so much. I don’t think he would have wanted you to see him… like that.”

She registered the fist in her lap cramping around something and looked down to realise that she was still clutching Gilbert’s Iron Cross tightly. The points, though long since worn to rounded corners, were pressing hard lines into her skin, and slowly she released her fingers from around it, reluctant to let another piece of him go.

But then she looked back up at Gilbert’s little brother in front of her, who was trying to remain as stoic as ever while he tried to deal with the grief of losing his brother and mentor.

She took a breath and leant forward, pressing the Iron Cross into Ludwig’s hands.

“I think… he’d want you to have this. He knew that you would take good care of it.”

He opened his hands slowly, taking a moment to realise what it was – but when he did, all resolve disappeared and he burst into tears, sobbing openly.

“Oh God Elizaveta, it was all my fault, if I’d just protested when everything started merging, but I didn’t, he just gave up everything and I just took it, and – ”

She gently put her arms around his shoulders, rubbing his back as he accepted the embrace and wept into her shoulder.

“Ludwig, you can’t blame yourself for this. It isn’t your fault, not in the slightest. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, not when he thought you worried too much to begin with.”

She shushed him softly, her hands smoothing up and down the worn cotton of his shirt. She felt Ludwig sigh shakily into her shoulder, and she began to rock slowly back and forth, humming softly.

 “We’ll be alright.”

She took a deep breath, looking up at the high windows of the church that were letting sunlight stream down onto the pair of them, as though two worlds hadn’t just fallen apart at the seams.

But then, the universe was often an insensitive place.

They’d pull through.

They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get posted, I swear it's almost finished! I've had the plan down for months now but got major block with it for some reason, and now Uni's going back so real life will be in the way... but I swear I'm working as hard as I can to finish it soon.  
> Hope you like it! Hope it isn't too angsty to be a good gift...


	2. Tobias

It was only a few years later when it happened.

Life had realigned itself to fit around the empty space Gilbert had left, and though Elizaveta wasn't happy – her slow-healing Nation's heart would probably always be wounded and frayed around the edges – she could function again. Life continued its constant flow and though everything was different now, nothing had really changed.

Gilbert hadn’t wanted a funeral – though he had craved attention when he was alive, his only requirement for when he was gone was that there was drinking and as little crying as they could get away with. So they’d held a wake of sorts and invited anyone who wanted to come and celebrate his life. Everyone from Mathias to Alfred to even Lovino told stories of their fond memories of Gilbert and drank to his memory, and even sombre Roderich sitting in the corner had raised his glass to one or two toasts. At the end of the night after everyone had left it had been Elizaveta and Ludwig sitting awake, sharing a beer and staring out of Ludwig’s apartment window at the faint stars barely visible on the Berlin skyline.

Just a stone’s throw from where the wall had been torn down no more than a year prior and situated almost exactly on the dividing line between what had been both of their lands, the apartment had suited Ludwig and his brother very well. Taking a sip of his beer as they sat, though, Ludwig admitted quietly that it felt too big for just him and the pining Gilbird, and the birds’ sad cries kept him up at night when they echoed through the house for a master that wasn’t coming home.

Ludwig couldn’t bring himself to throw anything out, not yet, not the old uniforms or the ceremonial swords Gilbert had somehow kept secret or even his clothes, though many of them were from when he went by “East” and were torn and almost destroyed.

Looking at Ludwig then, Elizaveta couldn’t see the tall, broad shouldered, stoic man everyone else saw – all she could see was a little boy who was lost without his big brother; a kid at heart who was floundering without the person who had against all odds been the most steadying influence in his life. Ludwig had been self-sufficient for over a century, but even she could see that he needed someone to take care of him.

Ludwig had inherited Gilbert’s possessions, but it was then that it became apparent that Elizaveta had inherited a little brother.

She’d never been as close to Ludwig as Gilbert had been, but since his confession she made a point of visiting him a lot more, just “checking in” and filling the silence. They both found comfort in the quiet presence of the other and the knowledge that they understood what it was like to miss Gilbert, and the arrangement suited both of them quite well.

Years passed with a quiet monotony, and Elizaveta lulled herself into a rhythm of work, sleep, travel, and visits to Ludwig.

Though she had all the time in the world she simply couldn’t find time for anything else, because extra time meant more time to spend missing him, and so all she could do was keep herself busy.

Nevertheless, she had been lost in her thoughts one day as she walked from the bus stop to Ludwig’s apartment when she’d walked past a small park and been distracted by loud laughter.

Without really noticing she stopped at the edge of the park, by the low wall separating it from the pavement, and looked over to spy a group of children playing on the swing-set, the shouting and laughter from the small group drawing her from her somewhat sombre thoughts and making her smile.

The children were all only a few years old, and scattered around the edge of the park there were a few groups of what appeared to be parents, watching their children with wistful smiles and the occasional warning of “don’t climb that, it’s dangerous.”

The children seemed to be friends in the indiscriminate way that children always were, and though they were all laughing and having fun Elizaveta found her eyes drawn to one boy in particular.

He seemed to be the self-proclaimed King of the Castle and defended his mound of bark chips bravely, his brown hair tousled, his hazel eyes bright, and his smile breathless. He wielded his stick with something like expertise as he gave sharp flicks to his playmates – a warning, not an attempt to hurt – each followed by a cackle that reminded her far too much of another boy she used to know.

She smiled nostalgically, reminded of days spent in her youth defending lands from invaders, a pale haired boy by her side, and when the King of the Castle shook his stick at another boy and pulled a girl up out of the fray to share his castle, her heart panged.

She shook her head. It did her no good to dwell on such things.

She looked back once more at the scene, making to move on, but she was caught when the boy who was King of the Castle looked up towards the road and locked eyes with her.

Elizaveta froze, suddenly feeling cold despite the relatively sunny day.

That gaze…

The boy’s eyes widened, then he smiled, raising a hand and waving triumphantly before turning back to his opponents.

But for a moment there’d been something there that had been far too familiar.

Elizaveta turned, trying to walk on, but she couldn’t. She found herself drawn back to the strange boy like there was something tying them together, and either unwilling or unable to leave, she found herself stepping over the low wall framing the park and walking over to a bench, sitting herself down gently and watching the boy on the bark-chip mountain.

There was something about him that she couldn’t quite place, something deeper than his laugh or his smile that inexplicably _felt_ like Gilbert, and she found herself unable to look away.

He fought valiantly against his playmates as they tried to usurp him from his throne, but eventually he was surrounded and pushed from the pile, toppling relatively harmlessly to the bark chips with a loud complaint of “unfair!”.

The other children returned to their play, but instead of trying to retake his castle, the boy on the ground just looked up at her and smiled that all-too familiar grin again, his eyes gleaming cheekily. Quickly, he got up and brushed himself down, then waddled away from the playground, into the underbrush of the trees and bushes that were planted around the edges of the park.

Elizaveta’s brows drew together slightly as she lost sight of him, and for a moment she came back to herself, wondering why she was here doing this to herself. Gilbert wasn’t coming back, why was she trying to convince herself that she could see him everywhere, in everything that reminded her of him?

She sighed, looking down at her fidgeting hands for a moment before she nodded decisively and got to her feet.

She couldn’t do this, not after everything had just stabilised. Not after she’d just gotten used to the fact that he was gone. She couldn’t torment herself with this foolish hope, no matter how real it seemed.

As she brushed her dress down, she looked up again and jumped when she saw the boy crossing the grass towards her slowly, something cupped carefully in his hands. He looked up from his hands to her face with that too-familiar grin, trotting a little faster when he saw her standing and making to go. He called out to her.

“Wait! I have a present for you!”

She found her heart beating in her throat and her lungs seemingly unable to draw air as the boy tottered across the park.

He was small and dumpy, with brown hair and hazel eyes, but she couldn’t deny it – there was a small boy with Gilbert’s voice and Gilbert’s manner coming towards her, calling out to her like he’d been aching to see her for years.

There was coincidence, and then there was this.

Her feet seemed frozen to the ground as he approached, and when he reached her, he looked up with a slight frown and placed a chubby little hand on her knee, trying to push her backwards a little bit.

She sat obediently, and he smiled, looking down at the other hand that he’d pressed to his chest. As she watched, he scooped his cargo from his chest and gently placed it on her knee, taking his hands away to reveal a disoriented sparrow.

The bird seemed confused as to what it was doing there, but appeared to be uninjured, and as he stroked its head gently with a finger, it settled and nestled into her skirts, twittering quietly.

He looked up at her face again, frowning slightly when he noticed something amiss. Leaning over slowly, so as to not scare the bird, he tucked her hair behind her right ear, frowning curiously.

“Didn’t you promise you’d always wear it?”

 Elizaveta frowned in confusion, then put a hand to her ear, remembering that she hadn’t worn her flower today.

Gilbert had given it to her several centuries ago, and though it had somehow defied time and death and still bloomed to this day, it reminded her too much of him to wear all the time.

The boy held up an authoritative finger and waggled it at her.

“Stay here and take care of him, ok? I’ll be back.”

Then he ran off to the bushes at the edge of the park again, leaving her stunned, with a sparrow tweeting and rustling its feathers in her lap.

Her mind and heart were both running too fast, her heart wanting to believe that this was what it appeared to be and her mind trying to sort through everything and give her a logical answer.

Her heart was winning.

Her chest still panged and ached for someone she’d lost, but she felt the tiniest seed of hope settle and bloom, and some of the last words he’d said to her echoed around her skull.

_If there’s a way for me to come back, I’ll do it…_

What if Gilbert had found a way to come back, and what if that way was a small, dumpy child with hazel eyes and brown hair?

The patter of footsteps tore her from her thoughts again, and she looked up to find the boy coming back towards her, this time with a pink daisy clutched in his hands. He clambered up onto the bench next to her, leaning over and tucking the flower behind her ear before sitting back and admiring his work with a smile.

“Now you’re perfect!”

Gently, he picked up the sparrow that was still sitting on her knee, crossing his legs and sitting it on his own knee before stroking it gently.

Elizaveta’s hand came up to touch the flower in her hair, feeling fragile and not quite real.

She turned to the boy, not knowing entirely what to say, and through the mess of thoughts swirling around her mind, a one word question escaped.

“Gilbert?”

The boy turned, eyebrows raised, looking at her expectantly as though he was waiting for her to continue.

“Yeah?”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart beating too fast. This was insane, this was bizarre, this _couldn’t be happening…_

“Is… is that your name?”

The boy frowned at her, as though disappointed that she didn’t remember. “No, my name’s Tobias, now. But I used to be called that, remember? Back when you were my wife.”

The bird flew from Tobias’ lap and he sighed, letting his legs flop down off the bench and swinging them slowly. He didn’t say anything, but when he looked over at Elizaveta’s hand on the bench next to him, he clasped it gently and pulled it into his lap, tracing her fingers gently.

Then he spoke, his voice quiet.

“I missed you.”

There was nothing she could say to that, absolutely nothing, and instead of attempting to give voice to the dozens of things whirling around her mind, she said nothing and let Tobias’ chubby little fingers trace the lines of her palm.

Then, a voice called from the other side of the park.

“Tobias! Come on, we have to go!”

Tobias’ head jerked up, looking over at the owner of the voice – his mother, presumably – and he waved to let her know he’d heard.

“Coming, Mutti!”

He turned back to Elizaveta, and with a quick smile, he leaned over quickly and pecked her cheek before hopping down from the bench, giving her a frantic wave goodbye and running over to his mother.

“Bye, wife! See you later!”

Elizaveta took a sharp breath, managing to conjure a smile as she slowly waved back, and then he was gone, clasping his mother’s hand and being walked away.

She was left sitting on a park bench by herself, a pink daisy in her hair, the memory of tiny fingers on her skin and a strange feeling of familiarity in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tobias' memories are based off of a few accounts I've read of children remembering past lives - often, they don't realise that they died, they just think everything is one connected life and say "my sister from before" or "my old house".   
> Again, hope you enjoy - the next chapter is very nearly done, but it's also the longest chapter so far, so might take a little longer to go up.


	3. Julchen: Part One

_Tobias Schäfer, 1989 – 1993_

_Our prayers are with his family at this troubled time._

The newspaper shook in Elizaveta’s hands when she read it in the Berlin morning newspaper, sitting at Ludwig’s dining table. The obituary was short but succinct and said all it needed to say – but she found herself wishing it said more.

She wished it could tell her more about the boy who had occupied her mind far too much for the past few weeks; the boy who had seemed to hold the spirit of someone long dead.

He’d haunted her dreams and her thoughts, torturing her with endless questions that had no answers, and she’d found herself wandering past that park again and trying to catch a glimpse of him, but he was never there.

And now he’d vanished off the face of the earth.

It was sad that his parents had lost a son so young, but children’s deaths were things that Elizaveta had dealt with too much in her long life. She was more concerned with the boy himself and the possibility that his soul had once belonged to someone else.

As she peered closer at the obituary, she found herself reading each word carefully in case there was some detail she’d missed, but the small line of print continued to say the same thing and told her nothing new.

So intent was she, she didn’t hear quiet footsteps behind her, or the slight squeak of the floorboard near the edge of the kitchen.

“Haemophilia.”

She jumped, turning to see Ludwig standing in the door to the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up and drying a glass, a querying expression on his face.

“Tobias Schäfer, wasn’t it? The one you were looking at?”

She nodded slowly at Ludwig’s raised brow, frozen in fear and shock. Did Ludwig know? The little boy had been German... but what if he didn’t? What could she tell him about Tobias?

Ludwig stepped slowly out of the doorway, sitting down across from her at the dining table and thinking for a moment before speaking.

“He was committed to hospital and died two days ago, after he scraped his knee and lost a lot of blood. His parents realised too late, and it was all downhill from there.”

To anyone listening Ludwig would sound cold and uncaring, but Elizaveta could see the small defeat in his eyes as part of him said his own quiet goodbye to Tobias, along with the rest of his people in the little column of the newspaper.

It struck her, not for the first time, just how young Ludwig was in terms of Nations – despite how much loss he had suffered in losing two wars of an incomprehensible magnitude, he still felt each loss keenly, and hadn’t learned yet that beings like them couldn’t afford to get hung up on individual losses.

He would learn, with time – when the sheer magnitude of death he would have to deal with became too much, and the years just kept piling in upon him, he would learn to let go.

But for now, he merely sighed, placing the now dry glass on the table and looking up at her.

He looked almost nervous. Elizaveta leant forward, ducking her head to catch his lowered gaze and trying to get him to stop rubbing the nape of his neck anxiously and speak.

Slowly, he did.

“Elizaveta, I know this sounds a little odd, but… have you ever noticed how some of your people feel familiar? As though they’re someone else, or _were_ someone else once?”

Elizaveta’s heart seemed to freeze in shock, and she couldn’t do anything but stare, willing Ludwig to go on. He did, hesitantly, staring a hole through the table.

“I thought of talking to Feliciano about it, but I couldn’t find a good time and I thought you, uh, you might want to know that, uh…”

He trailed off, looking down at the knot in the oak of the table, and one of Elizaveta’s hands went out to grip his before she spoke quietly.

“Tobias reminded you of Gilbert, didn’t he?”

Ludwig looked up at her, his eyes wide. Elizaveta took a shaky breath and continued.

“I met him, once, a few weeks ago. He… I don’t even know how to explain, it was just so _eerie_ the way he knew things, and it was such a terrifying coincidence that I couldn’t deal with it at the time, but what if it _was_ him, somehow?”

Ludwig sat still, eyes wide, hardly seeming to breathe, and Elizaveta suddenly questioned the wisdom of telling him about Tobias. Ludwig had been so fragile since Gilbert had gone, the last thing he needed was a false hope. She looked away, at the photos that still hung on Ludwig’s wall of the two brothers, wincing as the Gilbert preserved behind the glass seemed to stare down at her accusingly.

Tears threatened to fall, and Ludwig clasped her hands between his and gave them a gentle squeeze. Then, quietly, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Elizaveta, if it _was_ Gilbert, if my brother has somehow found a way to come back to us… then this isn’t going to be the only time we’ll see him again. He isn’t going to give up until he gets what he wants, and even then he’ll push his luck.”

She smiled weakly, looking back at Ludwig. The shock from before was gone and he looked almost hopeful – even if it was just for his sake, she found herself wondering if it was true; hoping desperately that it was true.

“You’re right. He would do that.”

Ludwig smiled, a mere quirk of the corner of his lips.

“It isn’t really scientific, but there’s a lot of rules that we Nations break. Gilbert might have found just one more.”

He patted her hands gently, his large hands still enveloping her smaller ones, and she sighed in a mixture of sadness and relief.

“Thankyou, Ludwig.”

He nodded, smiling faintly at her one last time before getting up from his chair and leaving her with her thoughts and the pictures around the wall.

It was a long time before she could bring herself to move.

**

Years passed.

Of course, Elizaveta hadn’t expected anything to happen within weeks of her and Ludwig’s discussion – she was a Nation, patience was a virtue she’d learned centuries ago – but weeks turned into months and then years and then decades, and she started to doubt what she’d been so convinced was true. Perhaps Tobias hadn’t had anything to do with Gilbert and had instead just been a strange little boy who’d confused her with someone else.

Perhaps she’d been so busy entertaining foolish hopes she hadn’t realised how silly they were.

She kept up her visits to Ludwig, having fallen into a comfortable routine, and both of them kept their ears pricked for anything that might have something to do with Gilbert, but there was nothing.

In fact, the next news came from a source so unlikely neither of them were expecting it.

It was a fine day, and Elizaveta was climbing the stairs of Ludwig’s apartment building and knocking on his door for her regular visit, just as she always did. She was slightly worried when she heard scuffling and low voices from inside and the door stayed firmly shut.

Frowning, she knocked again.

Footsteps came down the hallway and the lock on the door clattered, then finally Ludwig opened it just enough to poke his head out.

She noticed that the long-suffering expression he only adopted for diplomatic discussions was firmly in place, and her brows drew together in concern.

He sighed and spoke quickly.

“Elizaveta, as it turns out, now is not a good time – he’s been here for three hours and I can’t get him to leave or tell me why he’s here and I know you probably don’t want to see him – ”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond, and Ludwig pulled his head back into the apartment with a quick “scheiße”. Elizaveta’s eyes widened, and she took a step closer to the door. “Ludwig, who…”

Then a hand grabbed the door just before Ludwig could close it, and the German gave a yelp as it was roughly pulled open to reveal Roderich, looking impeccable as always, if a little tired.

“Elizaveta! Come in, come in!”

The Austrian swept open the door completely, almost depositing Ludwig on the rug, and gestured for her to come inside. She did, slowly, smiling politely.

“Roderich! I-I wasn’t expecting you! I’m, er, quite alright, how are you?”

Roderich almost didn’t seem to hear her, so occupied was he with striding deeper into the apartment and entering the dining room, acting the host in a house that wasn’t his.

He called back to her as he walked.

“I’m… quite well. Different, considering you haven't asked me that for twenty years, but I’m as well as can be given the circumstances.”

She winced at the barely restrained sour tone in his voice, knowing immediately that he was hurt, angry, bitter, or a mix of the three.

Even after she’d long since chosen Gilbert; even after she’d politely made it clear at the fall of the Wall that she would rather continue her severed relationship with Gilbert than try to revive their marriage, he continued to make his feelings for her very clear.

Despite that, they’d still been close at the fall of the Wall. Time hadn’t treated their friendship well since.

Roderich pulled out a chair for her and when she didn’t take it, the silence stretched between them, filled only with a silently aggressive stare. Ludwig followed Elizaveta in from the hall with an expression akin to a kicked puppy, clearly trying to fold into himself and disappear.

Finally, Roderich gave up on trying to be polite, and he cleared his throat and sat down on the other side of the table.

“Now, to business. I have something that I think might be of interest to you. To both of you.”

Ludwig sighed and muttered something under his breath about how he could have said that hours ago, but he was ignored and so he simply sat dejectedly next to the seat that had been pulled out for Elizaveta.

Roderich pulled what appeared to be a rolled up magazine from the recesses of his coat, holding it up so that both Elizaveta and Ludwig could see that it was one of his music periodicals, detailing up and coming artists and accomplishments of those whose careers were already established.

Elizaveta shrugged.

“You brought a magazine? That’s very nice of you, but what makes you think we’d be interested?”

Roderich rolled his eyes, jabbing a finger at the periodical.

“I didn’t come here to see you for the first time in twenty years so you could snark at me. Look here and tell me you don’t recognise Julchen Schmidt. Tell me you don’t so I can go home and stop losing sleep over it.”

Elizaveta narrowed her eyes at him, letting him know he was on fragile ground, but he barely noticed it as he rifled through the pages of the magazine until he got to the centrefold.

There was text arranged around the page, detailing the career of the musician featured, and in the centre there was a picture of a woman with dark hair – Julchen Schmidt.

A flute was cradled in her hands, tucked over her shoulder almost carelessly, and her deep blue eyes and pale skin were contrasted by her strong jaw and sharp grin that was almost a challenge…

Elizaveta’s eyes widened, and her heartbeat sped up almost imperceptibly.

That grin – the last time she’d seen it had been on a little boy who’d called her his wife.

Roderich, who was watching her changing expression closely, exhaled a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how it’s possible, but… it’s him, isn’t it?”

Green met violet as she locked wide eyes with Roderich’s searching gaze, and then she looked down at Ludwig, who had realised at the same time she had and was looking up at her with an almost horrified expression.

Roderich and Gilbert had never gotten along, even towards the end. They had never found any common ground on which to stand, and while Gilbert had merely poked fun at Roderich with no real malice, Roderich had always had a deep seated distaste for Gilbert and had hated his presence, even up to the last. He’d only ever tolerated him for Elizaveta’s sake.

Did she confirm his suspicions and possibly put Julchen’s career at risk over an old grudge? Or did she deny it and possibly never get to know her?

Roderich decided for her.

“She’s one of Ludwig’s. She came over and studied at a Conservatorium a few years ago and her talent quickly became apparent – she’s been moving up in the music world ever since. Now, I wouldn’t be bothered by this at all – ”

He paused, looking away and placing the magazine back on the table, completely ignoring Ludwig when he snatched it and examined the photo closely.

“ – if it weren’t for the fact that the first time she met me, she recognised me. She knew _what_ I was, without me telling her. She almost knew my name.”

Elizaveta’s eyes widened, knowing exactly what he meant. Humans almost never recognised the Nations when they just saw them, it almost always took physical touch – and they always recognised their own country before another. For a human who wasn’t even Austrian to recognise Roderich as a Nation without touching him was something unheard of.

“It should be impossible for someone like her to remind me so much of him, it’s ridiculous. And yet, from what I can tell, it’s true. He’s come back.”

He looked up at her imploringly, and when Ludwig said nothing and Elizaveta just stared silently, giving nothing away, he sighed, shifting uncomfortably.

“Please, Elizaveta, I am at my wits end. Is it true? Is this Gilbert in another form?”

Elizaveta quietly bit her lip in thought, but as much as her and Roderich’s relationship had not been the best for the last few decades, she had never been able to deny him. She looked down at Ludwig, who looked forlornly up at her and nodded slowly. She nodded back and looked down at the table, speaking quietly.

“Ludwig and I have our suspicions, yes. We spoke about such a thing being possible years ago.”

Roderich sighed, though whether it was with distaste or relief was impossible to tell. He shook his head, making a little _tsk_ noise to himself.

“I knew it. If anyone could find a way to come back and torment me, it’d be him…”

Elizaveta leant forward on the table, slightly menacingly, her green eyes cold.

“But if you think for a moment that him being human now changes anything, you’re wrong. He’s come back because he wants to see me, and I want to see him; he’s come back to me because living without him borders on painful. Unlike some other people I could name.”

He met her gaze with one that was equally hard and cutting, violet eyes narrow. Then, he sighed and dropped his gaze to the table, pushing his glasses up his nose with one delicate finger.

“Would you like me to arrange a meeting?”

Elizaveta blinked, Ludwig dropped the magazine. Roderich just looked at both of them expectantly.

Of all the responses, Elizaveta hadn’t expected that one – she’d expected Roderich to get angry in his subdued way and then leave in a whirl of dark blue coat, furious over some perceived slight, but not for him to sit there quietly, hands folded in his lap, looking poised and patient.

She swallowed, and in the surprised silence, Ludwig spoke.

“I would love for you to arrange a meeting.”

Elizaveta, shocked, looked down at Ludwig, taking in his wide eyes and yearning expression. His hands were clenching and unclenching where they rested on the tabletop, and Elizaveta could see him almost trembling at the opportunity to say yes.

In her arguing with Roderich she’d almost forgotten that it hadn’t just been her who’d lost someone that day over two decades ago; Ludwig had lost his brother and parent-figure, and hadn’t quite forgiven himself for not making it in time.

He needed this meeting almost more than she did.

Roderich looked up slowly, nodding curtly at Elizaveta before giving a rare smile to Ludwig and pulling a small notepad and pen out of the deep pockets of his coat, clicking the pen imperiously and poising it to write.

“Alright, when and where is convenient?”

**

The little café Roderich chose for their meeting was nice – although it was small it was well decorated and the delicacies it had on offer were sweet and well made.

It was a pity Elizaveta could barely notice any of it, so nervous was she about meeting Julchen.

While they’d been planning, Roderich had been nothing but courteous and Elizaveta had gotten over her initial reserve around him, finding herself over the moon with excitement that she would possibly meet Gilbert again – albeit in a different form.

Before, there’d been absolutely no doubt in her mind that this was him, despite having only seen a picture. She’d been that desperate and had believed in the possibility so much that it had seemed impossible that Julchen was anyone else.

Now though, she wasn’t so sure.

They’d specifically been early, knowing that if this was Gilbert then Julchen would be on time at the very latest, but now Elizaveta was left fidgeting her way through another ten minutes while they waited. She wasn’t the only one who was nervous, it seemed – Ludwig made complete and utter unusable origami out of the napkins with his restless hands and Roderich downed his third cup of coffee, though whether that was just his daily requirement or he was nervous she couldn’t really tell.

Then finally, perfectly punctually at exactly ten o’clock, a tall, dark haired woman swept into the café, her long, well-tailored coat swirling as she dramatically closed the door behind her and strode over to the table.

Her long black hair hung down her back like a dark curtain, her grin was slightly lopsided and coupled with an almost analytical glare from her deep blue, piercing eyes – strangely reminiscent of Ludwig’s – and her voice was light and teasing as she addressed Roderich.

“Roderich! How nice to see you! Sorry if I kept you waiting, but I’m sure it wasn’t much of a stretch for you to sit around, seeing as you do so much of it.”

Roderich sighed; Ludwig and Elizaveta turned to each other with the same idea in both of their wide eyes.

It was impossible… and yet in every way it seemed true.

Roderich gave the slightest smile to both of them before standing to welcome Julchen. To Elizaveta’s surprise, instead of giving her the customary kiss on the cheek that he gave to all his female musicians, he took her hand and shook it firmly, his voice tight.

“Julchen, a pleasure.”

Julchen’s grin widened a little, the expression achingly familiar.

“I wish it were, trust me.”

Roderich sighed, his left eye twitching slightly – though whether that was annoyance or the three cups of full caffeine Vienna coffee he’d had in the last half hour was unclear.

Julchen meanwhile, had leaned around Roderich to spy his two companions at the table, and had opened her mouth – probably to make some remark about lax introductions – when she froze, mouth open and eyebrows drawn tightly together in a frown, as though she were considering something.

Elizaveta did the same, freezing where she sat with wide eyes. Out the side of her eye she saw Ludwig’s back go ramrod straight, and she knew that his expression was probably mirroring hers.

Julchen knew something.

There was a moment where they just shared long stares, Julchen’s eyes widening fractionally as Elizaveta and Ludwig just continued to stare, trying to say everything with just one look.

Then Julchen blinked, shaking her head slightly, and she smirked at the both of them, chuckling a little.

“Roderich, your friends look like two deer in the headlights, why don’t you introduce us so they realise I won’t bite?”

Roderich turned around, frowning, then when he saw them looking away and trying to act natural he sighed, gesturing to Ludwig to stand up and greet Julchen.

“Julchen, these are two of my… colleagues, if you will. This is Ludwig Beilschmidt, from Germany.”

Ludwig stood, taking her hand as Roderich had done and shaking it firmly, the rare trace of a smile on his face.

“A pleasure, Ms Schmidt.”

She smiled warmly at him.

“Oh please, just Julchen is fine, Ludwig. Or Germany. Whichever you prefer.”

He started at the name, and she just nodded, frowning a little as he pulled his hand away though she were trying to decipher something about him. Then Roderich turned to indicate Elizaveta, who stood nervously, smoothed down her skirts and held out her hand.

 “And this is – ”

“Elizaveta. Hungary.”

Those deep blue eyes were trained unwaveringly on her now, and Elizaveta froze with her arm outstretched, drowning in them.

There was something there, something familiar, and then something else that Julchen was trying to say but was struggling to explain. As her cool hand slipped into Elizaveta’s and shook firmly, Elizaveta had the strangest feeling that she’d just come home after a long time away.

Roderich started, blinking a few times.

“Yes actually, how did you…?”

Julchen broke her staring match with Elizaveta, looking back at Roderich, and Elizaveta was almost angry for the interruption.

“Lucky guess.”

She pulled out a chair and draped her coat and handbag on the back of it, sitting and smiling smugly as she put her elbows on the table and watched Roderich’s teeth grit.

Then he shook his head a little and sat back down, holding up his hand and calling a waitress over to take Julchen’s order of white coffee as Elizaveta followed suit, rearranging her skirt on her chair and sitting down.

Once the waitress had walked away towards the kitchen, Roderich cleared his throat, launching into a discussion of Julchen’s current commitments and upcoming performances and leaving Elizaveta and Ludwig behind in a matter of seconds.

Elizaveta didn’t mind though, finding herself absolutely enraptured in Julchen’s explanation, in her speech, her mannerisms – and one by one, all of her doubts faded away.

In front of her, in a woman’s body with dark hair and deep blue eyes, sat Gilbert. She had never been surer of anything, and she felt like crying in relief.

It seemed like her hopes hadn’t been in vain after all.

Soon, Julchen’s coffee arrived, and without even blinking she stirred it briefly and then grabbed a handful of sugar sachets and began emptying them into her mug.

Roderich’s lip curled up in distaste, and Julchen smiled wickedly up at him, feigning innocence.

“What, something wrong Roddy?”

Roderich sighed.

“You know it’s supposed to be bitter, yet you keep ordering it and doing this.”

She smirked, looking over at Elizaveta covering a smile behind her hand before she responded.

“Maybe you just like it bitter because it matches your personality, my dear.”

Roderich spluttered indignantly. “What, and you’re sweet? I find that hard to believe.”

“No, I just like sweet coffee. What are you giggling at, Elizaveta?”

Elizaveta just smiled, sighing almost happily in a way she hadn’t for decades and sharing a quick glance with Ludwig, who gave her a tiny smile.

“Nothing, you just… remind me of someone I knew.”

Julchen smiled again, but there was something soft in it that hadn’t been there before, and Elizaveta’s breath caught in her throat as Julchen’s hand brushed against hers where it was sitting on the table.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thankyou.”

Roderich cleared his throat, making both women and Ludwig turn and look at him as he gracefully pushed his glasses a little further up his nose and spoke.

“The Berlin Philharmonic were keen to get Julchen in as a guest soloist for Mozart’s Second Flute Concerto, wasn’t that right, Ludwig?”

Ludwig started, stuttering a little in reply.

Roderich knew that despite his active music scene, Ludwig’s focus had always been more practical things, like manufacturing – Roderich had always been the one keeping tabs on the music, really. For some reason, he liked to remind Ludwig of it occasionally, normally when it was most inconvenient or embarrassing.

Such was Roderich’s passive-aggressive way.

Ludwig sat up a little straighter in his chair, nodding slowly, fixing Roderich with a glare that clearly said “there will be words later”.

“I uh… I believe so, yes.”

Roderich nodded, a slight smile quirking his lips, and Ludwig narrowed his eyes at him before the musician turned back to Julchen.

“Would you be agreeable?”

Julchen hummed, biting on her lower lip in thought and sipping her sweet coffee.

“Depends on when they’re doing it. And if they’ll let me improvise the cadenzas, it’s much more fun that way.”

She smiled across the table at Ludwig, smiling gently.

“But I’d love to come home and perform. That’d be great.”

Ludwig gave a tentative smile in return, speaking quietly in return, more to himself than anyone else.

“We’ve missed you back home.”

Julchen gave him a long look that said that she knew he was trying to say more, and that she knew exactly what he wasn’t saying.

Then she chuckled a little. “I bet, there isn’t exactly anyone like me back in Germany.”

Ludwig just shifted a little, glancing at Elizaveta, who just smiled grimly.

They were sure now – of course there wasn’t anyone like her back in Germany.

There was no-one like her in the entire world.

Elizaveta wondered how she ever could have doubted it.

Julchen opened her mouth to speak again, but she was cut off by the door to the café opening and jangling, letting in a wash of cold air from outside with the newcomer.

Julchen looked up curiously, and then her eyes widened and she froze.

The others at the table all frowned in confusion, following Julchen’s gaze to the door, where a tall man with dark hair and equally dark eyes was standing. As they watched he noticed them and smiled at Julchen, starting to make his way across the café.

Julchen gave a start, standing and collecting her bag and coat from the back of her chair and rifling through it for spare change.

“Thankyou for coffee Roderich, this morning’s been lovely but I really must go – get back to me about the Berlin Philharmonic, alright?”

Roderich looked at his watch and then back up at her, frowning.

“Julchen, you’re not due at the stage door for another two hours and the theatre is only across the street, why…?”

She just shook her head, looking towards the rapidly approaching newcomer, who was now weaving his way between tables towards them.

“No, I just… I have to go, I’m sorry.”

She turned, but it was at that moment that the man reached the table, and she gasped and stepped back as he smiled at her.

It looked like the grin of a predator.

“Thomas, what a surprise… I didn’t expect you, I thought you were working today…?”

Thomas shrugged, that grin still in place.

“It’s my lunch hour, and they actually let me leave the office for once. So I decided to come see you, how long has it been since we had lunch together?”

Julchen just smiled weakly, and it was very clear that something was wrong.

The confident demeanour had vanished, and suddenly Julchen appeared almost small and weak in front of her companion, her shoulders hunched and one arm wrapped protectively around her middle. Thomas however, was looking around the table with interest, taking in the little scene.

“Julchen, you didn’t say you were meeting with anyone… would you like to introduce us?”

She stuttered for a moment, then looked back at him, almost as though she was asking permission to speak.

“I… I said I was at a business meeting, that’s all this is.”

She sounded like a naughty child caught doing something she shouldn’t have.

He just nodded, gesturing for her to go on. Julchen bit her lip, then sighed, turning back to the congregation at the table.

“Roderich, Ludwig, Elizaveta… this is Thomas. He’s my partner.”

The jovial atmosphere that had surrounded the table for the past hour evaporated like smoke, and Elizaveta’s blood ran just a few degrees colder.

Somehow, whenever she’d thought about Gilbert coming back as a human she hadn’t ever figured in the fact that he might have found love somewhere else before she met him, let alone with someone who downright terrified him.

Thomas changed everything.

Roderich cleared his throat, his voice underlined with a quietly aggressive tone as he addressed Thomas, whose dark eyes quietly met his in something like a challenge.

“A pleasure, I’m sure…however, as Julchen said, we are currently in a business meeting and there isn’t exactly room for guests. It would be appreciated if you could wait elsewhere until our discussion is finished.”

Julchen fidgeted with the cuff of her coat-sleeve and tapped her fingers nervously against the strap of her handbag, but Thomas shrugged, undeterred.

“If it’s just business then I see no reason why I can’t be here. You are in a café, surely it can’t be too top secret – and Julchen and I share everything, don’t we?”

He looked over to her, and she jumped and nodded.

Roderich narrowed his eyes, his fingers twitching where his hands were sitting on the table, and Elizaveta knew he was itching to put Thomas in his place and send him away.

Thomas was Austrian, everyone seated at the table could tell – either he was just reminiscent enough of Roderich to make the connection or vice versa, and as such Roderich was put in quite the position of power. With something as simple as a handshake he could have had Thomas at his feet, willing to do anything he asked – ready to sacrifice himself for his country.

It was how they’d kept up the moral of the troops, eons ago.

But Roderich did nothing – he merely let out a breath through his nose and sat back in his chair, glaring at Thomas as he pulled a chair from another table over to theirs and sat down.

“Don’t let me interrupt you, please continue.”

Elizaveta’s stomach lurched with sudden nerves again – Roderich wasn’t going to pull rank on Thomas, he was just going to let him intrude, which meant that her and Ludwig just had to play along.

Meaning that they couldn’t mention anything about their nature as countries, or, heaven forbid, Gilbert himself.

Nevertheless, Julchen slowly sat back down, looking as skittish as a deer on a highly trafficked highway, and Roderich made a valiant attempt at continuing the conversation, despite the new pair of dark eyes that watched and silently catalogued everything that was said.

Ludwig slowly picked up one of his destroyed napkins from earlier, crumpling it into a ball, and Elizaveta fidgeted with some of the fabric in her skirt, both of them sharing nervous glances.

Thomas’ almost unblinking gaze was unnerving, and Elizaveta wondered how Roderich could obliviously make arrangements about rehearsals and scores and performances and tours while being pinned to his seat with Thomas’ gaze.

Julchen, meanwhile, had regained some of her confidence – but only some.  She continued talking with Roderich as though nothing was wrong, but whenever Thomas so much as shifted slightly she would jump and watch him for a few seconds, as though afraid he was angry at her for some reason.

Elizaveta’s entire abdomen was tying itself in knots, and she kept sharing nervous glances with Ludwig, who looked just as worried as she felt.

As a nation there were few people that could truly intimidate her, but there was something about Thomas that constantly put her on edge and she didn’t like it at all. She didn’t like his too wide smile or unreadable dark eyes or the way Julchen had suddenly become jumpy and nervous around him. She didn’t like the way he had slotted himself into the conversation as though he belonged when he clearly didn’t, and she didn’t like the way he kept answering for Julchen as though she had to check everything with him before so much as breathing.

By the looks of Ludwig’s stiff posture and frown that was deeper than usual, he didn’t like it either.

They suffered through another five minutes, and then Roderich finally fell silent, frowning as he tried to remember whether he’d thought of everything.

 Then, he nodded.

“Well, Julchen, I think that’s all.”

She nodded, and they both stood, Roderich placing a friendly hand on her arm and smiling faintly.

“Thankyou for spending your morning with us, I hope your matinee goes well.”

She smiled faintly, a mere ghost of the grins she’d been giving earlier.

“You managed to actually be interesting this morning, it wasn’t much of a stretch.”

Ludwig and Elizaveta rose to shake her hand in farewell again, but it was then that Thomas stood and put his hand on Julchen’s arm next to Roderich’s hand, pulling her away and wrapping his other arm around her shoulders.

“Then I think it’s about time we were going, actually – see you all later!”

And without allowing her another word, he steered her out of the café, leaving Julchen barely able to look back and share a parting glance with Elizaveta before the door to the café closed, and they were left with a silence that was equal parts stunned and confused.

Elizaveta and Ludwig were looking from each other to Roderich, who was tiredly wiping his face with a handkerchief he’d pulled from somewhere and waving for the waitress before ordering his fourth coffee for the morning.

Ludwig was the first to clear his throat and break the silence.

“Roderich… why?”

_Why didn’t you tell us there was a partner? Or do anything to stop him?_

Roderich sighed, plucking his glasses from his nose and polishing them on his shirt.

“I swear I didn’t know about Thomas, alright? She’s never mentioned him before, and I think we can all tell why.”

Of course they could.

They were all centuries old; they’d seen the effect such relationships could have, and they knew that anyone could fall into the trap.

Elizaveta would have thought Julchen wouldn’t have stood for such things from a partner, but obviously he’d lured her in with warm water and slowly turned up the temperature until she was dying in the heat.

If Thomas had tamed fiery Julchen into a timid creature, then she was in too deep and it was unlikely she was getting out soon.

Elizaveta’s heart sank with the realisation that she would have to watch Gilbert shrink and fade away yet again.

Not for the first time, she cursed him for fading in the first place, knowing she didn’t mean it, and looked up when Ludwig placed a gentle hand on hers where it sat on the table, offering her a small smile.

It looked like they’d have to be strong for each other through this again.

All three of them started as there was a loud voice from outside, looking towards the storefront of the café as the door opened again and with a flurry of movement, Julchen swept back inside, striding over to the table with her bright grin in place.  She stopped at the edge of the table, rifling through her purse and ignoring the stares the group was giving her.

“Roderich, I realised that I forgot to pay you for coffee, just give me a moment to find the change…”

Roderich’s eyes narrowed. “I had no idea you were so considerate.”

Julchen shrugged, leaning over to put a small pile of change in front of Roderich. As she did so, her long sleeve slid up her arm, and for the first time all three of them could see the dark, finger shaped bruises imprinted on her wrist.

Julchen looked up at Roderich, whose wide-eyed gaze was trained on her wrist, and when she realised what he was looking at she hastily drew her hand back and pulled the sleeve down, leaning on the back of Elizaveta’s chair.

“I’m not _that_ considerate, I just remembered how put out you were last time you had to pay for my coffee. Pouting is not your style, my dear.”

She smiled quickly around the table, and it was then that Elizaveta felt cool fingers on the back of her neck and something tickling the skin just under her collar, and she looked up to see a meaningful glance directed straight at her. Elizaveta frowned in confusion, and then Julchen smiled again, turning and walking away.

“See you all later!”

And with a swish of her coat, she was gone.

Ludwig and Roderich watched her as she exited, watching through the window as she took Thomas’ arm where he was standing on the pavement and strode away.

Elizaveta however, reached up and fumbled around in her collar, finding a piece of paper tucked into it that definitely hadn’t been there before.

It was folded meticulously, and she unfurled it and read it quickly.

_Call me!_

_XXXX-XXX-XXX_

Elizaveta found a smile creeping onto her face, and suddenly, Julchen wasn’t just a helpless victim anymore.

Suddenly, there was hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't feel like this is exactly my best work... but I'm trying to push through and get it done, I've dragged this out for far too long already. >.> Here's hoping it's actually enjoyable, and you don't hate me too much for getting rid of Tobias so quickly, I swear there's a reason.   
> ANYWAY  
> This and the next chapter was going to be all one chapter but it got WAY too long very quickly, so I split it in half and there is another chapter of this length (actually a bit longer) a few days away from being posted, with any luck.


	4. Julchen: Part Two

Days passed.

Elizaveta was busy with work, having used up her day off on meeting Julchen, and the scrap of paper with Julchen’s number created its own little home in her pocket like a secret pet that only she knew about. She found herself in the habit of pulling the little scrap out and looking at it wistfully whenever she was fairly sure no-one was looking, but she never found time to call, no matter how much she wanted to.

In fact it was almost a week later when Elizaveta found herself sitting on the edge of her bed and slowly thumbing the now thoroughly creased scrap, taking advantage of the Sunday morning to pull out the number with a sense of triumph and sit down to call Julchen.

And then she just kept sitting.

She sat there, seeing and feeling the morning sun creeping across her covers and looking at the scrap for so long that the numbers no longer made sense and her brain was just repeating the sequence senselessly over and over like a mantra, or a prayer.

She should call.

She couldn’t call.

What if Julchen was working, or busy, or with Thomas… or would she simply not want to talk?

She sighed.

Julchen had given her the number, of course she wanted to talk.

If she were to be honest with herself, she just wasn’t sure what she would say when she heard that bright, enthusiastic voice echoing down the line at her, so reminiscent of Gilbert.

An even quieter part of her wasn’t sure what she would do if it was subdued and dead instead; like a few decades before when Ivan had almost broken him.

Listening to the heavy _tock_ of the grandfather clock Ludwig had made for her echoing from the hall, she continued to sit, consumed by indecision as she stared at the scrap of paper in her hand.

_Just… just take the phone out._

She looked over to her bedside table where her phone had sat patiently for the past half hour.

_Just pick it up and go from there._

Slowly, she reached over, plucking the device from where it sat, punching the number in and saving it to her contacts. Just in case.

God knows she’d looked at it and considered it enough to have memorised that number for the next fifty years.

After that she stalled, looking at the new contact with her finger hovering over the ‘call’ button for so long that the _tocking_ from the hall had turned into the chimes of the new hour.

_Just call!_

But what if Julchen was in rehearsal or a performance or busy or –

_Just do it! You’re the Republic of Hungary, you’ve fought how many wars by yourself? Surely one call isn’t going to kill you!_

But… but…

Her phone shuddered and beeped in her hand, and she jumped, almost dropping the thing to the carpet in panic.

She looked down, expecting to find a text from Julchen chiding her for not calling – though why she thought that she wasn’t sure. Instead she found that it was from Feliciano, asking if she would be free after the EU meeting next week to have coffee with him.

She sighed, trying to subdue her feelings of disappointment. Why on earth would it be from Julchen, she scolded herself sternly, typing out a reply, and it was only as she was replying that she realised.

A text.

Perhaps that was the best way to contact Julchen.

If she were in a rehearsal then a text was far less obtrusive than a call, and if she missed a call then she might not have a voicemail to catch it, but she’d be able to check a text later.

Quickly she typed and sent off a reply to Feliciano, then opened a new text to her newest contact, deliberating heavily over every word.

_Hi Julchen, it’s Elizaveta, Roderich’s friend. Sorry to text instead of call, I didn’t want to interrupt anything. :)_

She frowned, then backspaced the smiley. Too informal. They had only met once, no matter who Julchen had once been, and she had no idea if Julchen worked in smileys or not. Gilbert probably would have, but he’d never had the opportunity to try texting and she didn’t know for sure.

She took a deep breath and before she could reconsider it, she hit send and dropped the phone as though it were red hot, tucking her knees up under her chin protectively and pressing her hands over her ears. For a few moments she listened to the thump of her heart in her ears and the sound of the clock in the hallway, breathing like she’d just fought the Mongols.

As one minute passed, and then two, she slowly unfurled from the little ball she’d knotted herself into and spread out on her covers, listening to the thoughts of her people walking past on the busy Budapest street outside and letting them calm her with their regularity; she listened to idle dreams of lovers and thoughts of coffee and children and paperwork and sighed.

Why was she so nervous about a text? God, she needed to get a grip…

She jumped as her phone made a short _vzzt_ against the covers and slowly, as though it was going to shatter if she handled it roughly, she reached out and opened the message.

_Hi Elizaveta! Good to hear from you, I thought you’d never get around to saying hi :P  
Don’t worry, you aren’t interrupting anything, these losers are still having a warmup competition :/_

A few seconds later a photo arrived – Julchen had taken a selfie of possibly the most unimpressed face she could muster, and behind her there were four trumpet players in a circle, playing at each other.

It was slow, but Elizaveta felt a fragile smile creeping onto her face.

The last time she’d seen that face had been several decades ago, when Ivan had tried to convince her to adopt the regime whole-heartedly and Gilbert had made his displeasure clear over the Russian’s shoulder.

It was just as silly now as it had been then.

Something in her chest settled, and she found herself smiling widely as she texted back.

_IDK, surely you’re having fun being the judge?_

This time, it was barely a minute before she got a reply.

_Hans is going to win, he always does >: (_

Barely seconds after that her phone gave another short shudder, and she opened the message to find another photo – the four trumpets were now seated, one looking unbearably smug and the others looking just the slightest bit disappointed. Julchen was rolling her eyes in the foreground.

The photo was accompanied a few seconds later with the final note to the story.

_Hans won._

Elizaveta actually laughed at that, thumbs flying over her phone’s keyboard in reply.

_Try and make sure it doesn’t go to his head, it already looks big enough :P_

They kept back and forth throughout the morning, and despite insisting that Julchen should just focus on her rehearsal Elizaveta couldn’t stop texting her; couldn’t stop the little rush of excitement every time she got a new text back.

It honestly felt like she was texting Gilbert, and there was something about that that was insanely comforting.

She felt so happy as she bustled around her little kitchen making an early lunch that she hummed and sang absentmindedly to herself for the first time in years.

For once in several decades, though she was alone, she didn’t feel at all lonely.

**

_-Two Weeks Later-_

The street was bustling and the sun was shining, and Elizaveta smiled as she sat opposite Julchen, two cups of coffee left rapidly cooling on the table as the two bent their heads close together in deep conversation.

After texting back and forth for a few weeks, texts had quickly become too short for what they wanted to say and they’d turned into lengthy calls – until the cost of them being in different countries most of the time forced them to find other ways of communicating.

So, Julchen had suggested a meeting, and here they were.

It had only been a few weeks of contact – quite short in the life of a nation – but for Elizaveta, it felt like she’d known Julchen for years.

And really, she had, hadn’t she?

With Julchen around everything seemed brighter somehow; she was like a star on a horizon that had been wildly spinning; a fixed point that led her out of the mire of depression that had clouded her life for the past few decades.

For all intents and purposes, Gilbert was back in her life; it was his grin that greeted her when they met up and his voice that cackled down the line when she called, and it was his soul that gazed back at her through those deep blue eyes, she was sure of it.

She was almost scared to be happy.

The only downside of meeting Julchen at all while she was working in Austria was that Roderich had known as soon as Elizaveta set foot on his soil what she was there for. No Nation stepped into another Nation’s territory without asking permission, begging forgiveness, or waging an all-out war, even if it was just to meet someone for coffee, so Elizaveta had had to let Roderich know she was visiting.

Roderich had somehow restrained himself and had made very few appearances throughout those few weeks – Elizaveta had only caught scant glances of him over Julchen’s shoulder, if he dallied while walking past the café they were sitting in, or if he was quietly reading a newspaper in the corner and watching them discreetly.

If Elizaveta ever caught his eye, he would just raise his brows, looking slightly affronted, and go back to whatever he’d been doing previously.

But he hadn’t said a word to her, and it didn’t look like he was going to, which was odd for him.

But she could live with that – the fact that they were in Austria and that Julchen had a partner and also a matinee show in a few hours didn’t matter, right now.

All that mattered was the fact that she was spending time with someone she’d thought lost to her, someone who had once been the most important thing in the world and still was, in a different way.

That morning, an hour passed in a slow, languid kind of happiness – the kind that seemed like it would last forever; like nothing could possibly touch it.

Then Julchen got a text.

It always happened like this – she was fine, chatting away as she reached into her bag, laughing at something Elizaveta had said.

Then she read the text, and her laugh died, a worried frown creasing her brows.

Elizaveta knew immediately exactly who the text was from, and like always, an angry frown brought her brows just the slightest bit closer together.

Julchen sighed, typing out a quick reply and putting the phone back into her bag, looking forlornly down at her cold coffee and avoiding Elizaveta’s gaze.

“Sorry Elizaveta – Thomas is waiting for me, I forgot that I said I’d meet him…”

Something in Elizaveta’s heart gave a forlorn tug as Julchen made to rise.

It always happened like this.

Julchen might change plans with times and places, trying to outwit Thomas – who looked through her phone and kept a tab on all her texts – but no matter what she did, if he knew she wasn’t at work or at home he would interrupt somehow and ask her to come, and Julchen, eager to keep the peace, always complied.

It didn’t sit well at all with Elizaveta.

She would find herself remembering the times Gilbert had done the same as Julchen was doing now; suffered through abuse, told himself that it was “for the good of the people” that he adopted Ivan’s regime or that it was “for the better” that they dissolved him.

She couldn’t bear to see it again.

Julchen stood and Elizaveta grabbed her sleeve as she did, making Julchen flinch and freeze at the sharp movement.

“Julchen, you know you don’t have to do this to yourself.”

_Not again._

Julchen just bit her lip anxiously, and slowly, Elizaveta stood, taking a step closer to her and looking down at her wrist, next to the sleeve she had caught between her fingers.

Slowly, cradling Julchen’s arm like it was made of porcelain, she slid the sleeve up, revealing bruises that should have yellowed and faded weeks ago.

Instead, there were new, darker ones overlaid.

Elizaveta’s eyes widened, and though her jaw clamped with rage, she cradled Julchen’s hand gently and looking imploringly into her wide eyes.

“You could live without him. You’re strong, you know you could do it.”

_You’ve been strong from the day they formed you and you still have that greatness inside you, don’t lie to yourself._

Julchen shook her head sadly, and her voice croaked out, dead and robotic, like she’d been trained to say the words.

“B-but he loves me, Elizaveta.”

Elizaveta swallowed the fact that that stung, gripping Julchen’s hand the tiniest bit tighter and speaking quickly, urgently.

“Do you love him, though?”

Julchen opened her mouth to reply, but as she looked down into Elizaveta’s gaze the words seemed to die in her throat. Elizaveta just stared, imploringly, wanting to hear her tell the truth and knowing she wouldn’t.

_Just say no. He can’t hear you, not here. Say you don’t want this and I’ll make it all better, I promise._

_I won’t let him hurt you anymore._

Julchen took a breath, her eyes closed.

“I… I do. He just – he just gets angry, sometimes. But we love each other, and so we make it work. I-I promised him I’d help him make it work. It’s alright Elizaveta, don’t worry about me.”

A fragile grin, and Elizaveta’s heart sank. Swallowing heavily, she sighed and nodded, pulling Julchen’s sleeve back down.

Julchen stared down at her feet, half-hearted grin quickly fading, biting her lip like she was holding back tears, and when Elizaveta went to let go of her hand Julchen suddenly moved to grab Elizaveta’s hand and clutch it in both of hers.

“Elizaveta, do you ever… feel like the right thing to do is also the wrong thing at the same time?”

She stared desperately up at Elizaveta, and Elizaveta’s heart pounded, crawling up her throat and making her mouth go dry.

She could hear the words Julchen wasn’t saying, and she could see them written all over her desperate gaze.

_Leaving him would be the wrong thing and yet it feels so right when I’m with you._

Julchen stared, blue eyes deep and intense, and Elizaveta swallowed, hardly daring to breath.

The right thing also being the wrong thing… she knew exactly what she meant.

_I didn’t want to break Roderich’s heart all those years ago but I couldn’t bear to see you broken either._

Slowly, she nodded.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Julchen’s eyes widened, and in that strange way of hers, she seemed to know exactly what Elizaveta wasn’t saying. She gripped her hands a little tighter and leaned closer, opening her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the insistent beep of her phone again.

She looked down, then back up at Elizaveta, indecisive. Then she dropped Elizaveta’s hands and threw her arms around her instead, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“I don’t know how to explain it, but… I’ve missed you, Liz.”

Elizaveta bit her lip, trying not to cry into Julchen’s shoulder and instead bringing her hands up to the other woman’s back and patting gently, deciding to take the risk.

“I know. I’ve missed you too.”

Julchen pulled back, her eyes wide and her mouth open, and was once again interrupted by her phone beeping. She grimaced and reached down to grab her handbag.

“I’ve got to go, I’m sorry – ”

Elizaveta nodded, sighing, putting a gentle hand on Julchen’s forearm as she stood back up.

“Then just… be careful.”

Julchen smiled – weakly, but still a smile.

“Who are you, my mother? You sound like Roderich.”

She shrugged her handbag onto her shoulder, once again ignoring the insistent beeping emanating from inside it and grabbing Elizaveta’s hand urgently.

“Same time next week?”

Elizaveta smiled.

“Of course, if you’re free.”

Julchen grinned back, that jaunty lopsided grin that made Elizaveta’s heart pang with familiarity, and then she leaned in and pressed a tiny peck of a kiss to Elizaveta’s cheek.

“See you then, Liz.”

Then she turned, her long coat once again swirling dramatically and her long dark hair swishing down her back as she marched away.

Elizaveta was left with her own cold cup of coffee and a pounding heart as she raised a hand to her cheek and stroked the still tingling skin there.

She had the strangest feeling that she’d just fallen in love with the same person for the second time.

**

_-One Week Later in Salzburg, Austria-_

Elizaveta’s hands were raw from clapping as Julchen bowed onstage with a graceful dip of the head and a smile, before she gestured to her accompanist, who stood from the piano and also bowed, his arms stiff at his sides.

Then, the pair linked arms and walked backstage, and the curtain came down.

Elizaveta sighed, lowering her sore hands to her lap and sitting for a moment, smiling, lost in her thoughts as she absentmindedly hummed the encore piece and sat patiently in her seat up in the stalls, waiting for the masses to clear out the doors before she attempted to exit.

And there were masses – Julchen’s publicity and prowess had drawn flocks of people to her shows, but her skill had kept them on the edge of their seats the whole performance.

Elizaveta wasn’t at all disappointed that she’d come. She’d watched with the rest of the audience, enthralled, as Julchen drew the most incredible music from her flute onstage, looking like some sort of ethereal being in her dark blue gown that made her creamy skin seem to glow. Her and her accompanist were like one entity, and both of them had not just played notes but created something beautiful, filling the hall with a kind of audible magic.

No wonder even Roderich had once been somewhat in awe of Gilbert’s flute playing.

But now the show was over, and Elizaveta sighed, mentally resigning herself to the three hour drive back to Budapest.

She checked her lap and seat and made sure she hadn’t forgotten anything and then rose, turning to shuffle out of the row – only to notice a very familiar silhouette at the end of the line of seats.

The musician smiled thinly, his clothes actually of the current century for once as he stood imperiously, hands tucked behind his back, the lights from the chandelier glinting sharply off his glasses.

“Enjoy the show?”

She very carefully looked neutrally back at him, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows.

“Yes, actually, it was very good.”

 Roderich let out a humourless chuckle, looking down towards the now empty stage.

“It almost makes me wish I could say she was one of mine.  But alas, she’s still very loyal to Ludwig.”

He looked back at her, something dark and unreadable passing across his violet gaze as he spoke.

“As loyal as you still are to her, apparently.”

Elizaveta’s eyes narrowed, her brows drawing together in a frown. If this was a jab at her regular visits to his country, he’d have to work harder than that to ruffle her – he should know that, what was he trying to do?

She shifted slightly, readjusting her purse strap on her shoulder.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He just made a non-committal sound, crossing his own arms and looking away.

“Nothing, nothing…”

Elizaveta resisted the urge to strangle him.

He looked back at her with his brows raised expectantly, and she bit her lip to keep her frustration at bay as he plucked a piece of imaginary dirt of his sleeve and spoke.

“Would you like to visit her backstage? I’m sure she’d love to hear your opinion of the show.”

Elizaveta froze.

What game was he playing?

The juxtaposition of his manner and his words was unsettling– she swore he hadn’t been like this a century ago – and she stared at him, searching for some sign of trickery, but his face was just as impassive as always.

“And why would you help me do that?”

He shrugged, expression unreadable.

“Because we are old friends, and isn’t that the sort of thing old friends do for each other?”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. He continued to look down at the stage, and when the silence stretched he looked back, raising his brows expectantly.

Elizaveta bit her lip in thought.

She hated owing things to Roderich – it’d been bad enough when they were married, but she hated begging favours even more now, when she’d split from him and made it very clear she didn’t need him.

But the opportunity to see Julchen tonight, to see how happy she would be having a visitor backstage that wasn’t Thomas… that would be worth it.

Roderich tilted his head curiously, and with a deep sigh, she spoke, making up her mind.

“I can’t refuse, and you know it.”

He just smiled, nodding graciously and unfolding his arms.

“Then allow me.”

He offered his arm and she grit her teeth, walking slowly to the end of the row with a resigned frown on her face before gently laying her hand on his forearm and allowing him to lead her up the steps.

The foyer was brightly lit and full of audience members still, talking and mingling with each other, discussing the show, and enjoying the wine being served at the small bar that was attempting to close up amid the flood of customers.

Roderich, uncharacteristically, paid little heed to them and instead lead her efficiently through the foyer of the theatre and around to the backstage door, nodding curtly to patrons he knew and smiling graciously at the audience members who were regulars. Elizaveta shuffled nervously along with him, made vaguely nervous by the nods people gave her when they assumed she was with Roderich. He had orchestrated that quite well, as always – to any onlookers, they absolutely looked the part of the married couple.

 _This is for Julchen,_ she reminded herself sternly, taking a deep breath and tossing her hair back between her shoulder blades.

She was still unable to stop herself from letting out a sigh of relief when they reached the stage door and Roderich relinquished her arm.

The security guard in front of the door frowned as they approached, and even as Roderich smiled at him, unfazed, he held out a hand over the doorknob and shook his head.

“Sir, there is to be no audience admittance backstage without a pass.”

Roderich just smiled gently, slowly laying a hand on the man’s bare forearm, ignoring the deep frown he was given.

“Ah yes, but you can make one exception, can’t you, Baldwyn? After all, we’ll only be a few minutes.”

Baldwyn just frowned deeper, opening his mouth to say something – then his electric blue eyes seemed to glaze slightly and his jaw slackened.

Roderich’s grip on his forearm tightened a little.

“Open the door, Baldwyn.”

Elizaveta shivered. Even for a Nation, Roderich had always been extremely good at this “power of suggestion” act they all pulled.

She was surprised the man had held out this long – perhaps his patriotism was lacking and he was disinclined to let his country tell him what to do.

Finally Baldwyn, his expression still very vacant, nodded slowly and turned to open the door, violating several of his job protocols with one fell swoop.

But then, the effect of one’s Nation giving a command had always been a potent one.

Holding the self-closing door open, Baldwyn nodded at Roderich.

“Only a few minutes, mind.”

Roderich smiled, grabbing Elizaveta’s hand.

“Of course!”

Then they were in, and the door was closed behind them.

Immediately Roderich turned to Elizaveta, jovial façade quickly dropped and cold violet eyes trained on her.

“I mean it, Elizaveta – you’ll only have a few minutes. Be quick, and call me when you need to leave. I’ll just be around.”

She nodded, and he wandered away, walking down the corridor and turning left, up the stairs to the stage – probably to inspect the grand piano, no doubt.

Elizaveta shook her head to rid herself of the polite mask she’d put on to deal with him, then walked purposefully down the corridor, checking each of the doors carefully until she found the one with a sign reading “Julchen Schmidt”.

She knocked sharply.

“Come in!”

Smiling at the now familiar voice she opened the door, slipping inside and closing it gently behind her.

The dressing room was lovely and comfortable; big enough for a performer or two and a guest and decorated lavishly in red and gold, like the rest of the theatre. There was a mirror with lighting around the frame set above an antique looking dressing table, and in the corner was a gilded wardrobe, along with a changing screen, breaking up the monotony of the red walls.

But most importantly, Julchen was there.

The flautist was seated at one of the plush chairs, pulling pins out of the coiled bun her dark hair was pulled into and letting the dark strands cascade down her back before laying each pin gently on the dressing table. Her face in the reflection was sombre and sad, the bags and creases under and around her eyes obvious in the stark light of the mirror, but when she saw Elizaveta in the reflection she gasped in surprise and smiled, turning to her excitedly.

“Elizaveta! You came to see the show!”

Elizaveta smiled despite herself, suppressing a giggle at the unkempt mess Julchen had turned her hair into.

“Of course, I had to! You were absolutely magnificent, I couldn’t look away the whole time!”

Julchen flushed at the praise, grinning broadly, and Elizaveta smiled, moving behind her and gently swatting her hands away before taking over the work of undoing her hair.

“You seem to have had a rat attack your hair though, it left quite the mess.”

Julchen chuckled.

“They always make me wear it in this style and it takes _so long_ to do… taking it out and making a mess of it is always the best part.”

Elizaveta giggled, searching through the black tresses and plucking out the offending pins before picking up the hairbrush that lay on the dressing table.

“So, where to now?”

“Only a few more nights in Salzburg, then we’re rounding off the trip in Vienna. After that I get to come home and do that concerto in Berlin.”

She smiled at Elizaveta in the mirror like an excited child, and Elizaveta softly smiled back and began to brush the long, thick hair that lay down Julchen’s back.

“I’m sure Ludwig will be very excited to see you again, he thought you were very interesting.”

Julchen tilted her head curiously, and Elizaveta tilted it back up straight so she could continue brushing.

“I don’t know, I thought he was more interesting. I can’t remember who but he reminded me of someone – a little kid, or a sibling or something.”

Elizveta froze briefly in her brushing, eyes wide, swallowing and continuing when Julchen frowned slightly at her.

“You know, Ludwig used to have a big brother. He… not anymore. Not for some time.”

Julchen looked up at Elizaveta in the mirror, that tiny frown between her brows deepening slightly as she looked at how nervous Elizaveta seemed to be made by the statement.

Then she shrugged, sighing a little.

“Poor guy. He must miss him.”

Elizaveta sighed, stroking her fingers through the dark locks in front of her wistfully.

“He does. A lot of people miss him.”

Julchen smiled gently, turning back to face Elizaveta, something strange and distant shimmering in her deep blue eyes.

“You miss him a lot.”

Elizaveta’s heart was pounding in her throat as she met Julchen’s gaze, and Julchen just raised one eyebrow, a question with no words.

She nodded, throat tight, and Julchen put a gentle hand on Elizaveta’s, stilling it and pulling it onto her shoulder.

“I’m here now though, so it’s ok right?”

Elizaveta felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes.

_If only you knew._

Slowly, she smiled, and Julchen chuckled, turning back towards the mirror and rubbing her thumb across the back of Elizaveta’s hand.

“You know, it’s strange, I wanted to say “I’m back”, but that doesn’t make any sense.”

Elizaveta let out a chuckle, shaking her head and resuming her brushing.

“No, it… it does.”

Julchen huffed, turning around in her seat and disturbing Elizaveta’s brushing for good.

“Alright, spit it out. What are you being so mysterious about? There’s something about this brother of Ludwig’s, isn’t there? I feel like I should know him…”

She leaned a little closer, frowning, and Elizaveta’s mouth went completely dry.

“Well?”

Elizaveta gaped, opening and closing her mouth a few times, her throat working uselessly – because what could she possibly say?

“I… I…”

There was a knock on the door.

Both women gave a start, heads whirling around the face the door, and the security guard poked his head in.

“Good evening, ladies. Ms Schmidt, Mr Müller is here to see you. He says he’s been waiting for you to come out.”

There was a silence so thick that it seemed to draw all air from the room; Julchen turned a never before seen shade of white, and Elizaveta’s stomach plummeted through the floor.

The things Thomas would do to Julchen if he found Elizaveta in her room…

Julchen swallowed with difficulty, nodding at the security guard and speaking with a small voice.

“H-he’s come to pick me up. Show him in.”

The guard frowned slightly at her manner but nodded, backing out and closing the door, the latch catching with a small click.

Immediately Julchen was standing, and suddenly her hands were on Elizaveta’s upper arms and pulling her across the room, towards the wardrobe.

“Liz if he catches you in here I have no idea what he’ll do, and I’m not putting you into the line of fire… you have to hide.”

She threw open the double doors, putting her hands on the small of Elizaveta’s back and attempting to push her inside. Elizaveta threw her hands out to the sides of the wardrobe, holding her ground.

“Julchen, no! This has gone on far enough, please!”

She turned, catching Julchen’s hands and pulling them to her chest, staring straight into Julchen’s wide eyes.

“Aren’t you tired of being scared of him? Of running, and hiding away? He’s abusing you! You can say that it’s love all you like but this isn’t how love works, Julchen, and you know it!”

Julchen set her jaw and stared at the floor, frowning deeply, and Elizaveta sighed in frustration – Gilbert had always been stupidly stubborn – before pulling her close and murmuring quietly into her ear.

“Let him come in and see me, let him do his worst. If he hurts you then he will have to answer to me. Let me protect you, this time.”

Julchen’s hands fisted in the back of Elizaveta’s dress, and Elizaveta bit her lip, a memory swimming in her mind’s eye from centuries earlier; when his mercenaries had helped defend her borders.

Now she could return the favour.

But Julchen, eyes shining, was pulling back and shaking her head.

“No, Elizaveta. This is my battle, I’m not letting him hurt you. Please, I… I can’t do that to you.”

Her wrists captured in Elizaveta’s hands, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to hers, whispering.

“Please just do this. For me. I… I promised to protect you, and I don’t like breaking promises.”

Elizaveta’s breath caught in her throat. Julchen had never promised any such thing… but Gilbert had, two or three centuries ago.

She opened her mouth to respond to that, but footsteps sounded in the hall outside, and Elizaveta just nodded, her face grim.

“I… Fine. But I’m here if you need me.”

She stepped back into the wardrobe, sliding in amongst the few coats that were in there, and Julchen hurriedly closed the doors. There was the shush of fabric as she sat back down at the dressing table, and seconds later the door opened.

“Ms Schmidt, Mr Müller.”

Thomas spoke, his voice light and jovial.

“Julchen, darling! What’s taking you so long? I almost thought you’d died!”

There was a chuckle from Thomas and a nervous laugh in reply from Julchen, and then the sound of the door closing and the footsteps of the security guard thumping away down the corridor.

There was a beat of silence before Thomas spoke again.

All hint of good humour was gone from his voice. Instead it sounded low and dangerous, and though Elizaveta couldn’t see anything through the crack in the doors, she felt her hands curl into fists at her sides.

If he tried anything…

“What are you doing fucking around in here, Julchen? We were meant to leave ten minutes ago, I’ve been waiting for you outside.”

She heard the rustle of clothes that meant Julchen was shrugging, perhaps – the room was so silent the sound almost seemed loud – and then she heard her speak.

“I was just relaxing after the show and got caught up, I’m sorry. If you really had to go all you had to do was send me a text and let me know and I could have gotten a ride back to the hotel with someone else, it’s not that bad.”

“You know that’s not it, Julchen.”

His footsteps moved closer to Julchen and he spoke again, his voice very carefully even and level.

“You were talking with that bitch Elizaveta, weren’t you.”

Elizaveta’s skin crawled; and though she couldn’t see it, she could hear the panic in Julchen’s voice.

“What? No! Of course not! Why would you immediately jump to that conclusion?”

There was a small slapping noise of Thomas grabbing her wrist.

Without even seeing it Elizaveta could tell he was gripping too hard, and she almost burst out of the wardrobe then and there.

But something stilled her hand on the door – she’d promised Julchen that she’d hide.

Just for now, she stayed put, fists clenched at her sides, lip starting to hurt from how hard she was biting it.

Thomas spoke again, his voice sounding almost desperate, and Elizaveta could hear now why Julchen would always blame herself for their altercations.

“Julchen, please, don’t feed me that bullshit, just tell me the truth! I don’t like all these lies all the time, and I don’t like you going behind my back and meeting with people without telling me! Do you realise how suspicious that looks?”

Julchen let out a whimper, probably at his tight grip, and Elizaveta barely repressed a snarl, feeling her nails cut into her palms where her fists were clenching too hard at her sides.

He continued, voice still low but nonetheless dangerous.

“You told me you loved me, and now you’re keeping secrets and other people are taking precedence over me; over us. Why, Julchen?”

There was another small sound of cloth shifting, and Elizaveta was fairly sure Julchen had just stood up with her hand still captured in Thomas’ grip.

“Thomas, I do love you – and I’m not keeping anything from you, why would I be?”

“Then what have you been doing in here for the past twenty minutes? It shouldn’t be this hard to tell me what you’re doing if you have nothing to hide!”

“I told you, I was just relaxing! I said goodbye to Heinrich and packed up and took more time than usual, that’s all!”

The sound of skin again; this time it was louder and accompanied by a gasp from Julchen before there was a thump on the doors of the wardrobe.

He’d slapped her.

That was it.

Elizaveta placed both her hands on the wardrobe doors, pushing them gently, aware that Julchen was still laying across them. But there was resistance; Julchen wasn’t moving from in front of them, and it was almost like she was holding them shut.

Elizaveta could have easily just pushed Julchen away – she was an economically stable Nation, she could have bench-pressed three people if need be – but Julchen clearly wanted Elizaveta to stay put, whether out of some displaced sense of honour or unconscious need to protect her.

_Goddammit Gilbert, you stubborn ass…_

But still, she’d never been able to deny Gilbert what he wanted. Julchen was the same, in more ways than one.

Elizaveta dropped her hands; Thomas spoke again.

“Don’t try that on me. Look, I don’t want to discuss this here, we’re going back to the hotel and then we’re going to talk. Get your shit and come out to the car, _now.”_

Footsteps; then the slam of the door.

The weight on the wardrobe doors sagged, and in less than a second Elizaveta had pushed Julchen away from the doors, just enough so she could clamber out and sweep over to her where she’d collapsed onto the floor and was rubbing her cheek. Elizaveta threw herself onto her knees, pulling Julchen into a tight embrace.

For a few moments, they just stayed like that, Julchen’s face nestled into the crook of Elizaveta’s neck, Elizaveta’s arms wrapped tightly around the flautist. Elizaveta noticed her neck getting wet with Julchen’s tears, and as she stroked her back gently she felt a quiet, stifled sob.

Gently, she leant down and muttered into Julchen’s ear.

“Julchen please… don’t go with him. We can go somewhere else, anywhere else, somewhere where he won’t find you. All I need is for you to say yes.”

Julchen looked up, bright blue eyes shining, and she looked so heartbroken it took all Elizaveta had not to collapse into tears herself.

“ _Please,_ Julchen _._ ”

But Julchen just bit her lip, shaking her head slightly.

“Elizaveta… I can’t. I want to go with you, I do… but I can’t leave him. This is just how it is, Liz.”

Elizaveta shook her head, pulling Julchen tighter.

“No it isn’t. You deserve _love_ , not this. You deserve the world and more; you always have. And you’ve always been too afraid to take it, even when you were able to. Don’t let him do this to you.”

She pulled back, capturing those piercing blue eyes with her own again and feeling hope flare in her chest when she saw indecision.

A little over a century ago, Gilbert had wanted her to leave Roderich to be with him – now, she knew exactly what he’d meant when he’d said “I can’t watch you do this to yourself, you need to leave him.”

And Julchen wanted to, she could see it. Gently, she cupped Julchen’s cheek, stroking her thumb gently underneath her eye and wiping away the stray tear that threatened to fall.

Then a voice echoed down the hallway.

“Julchen! Hurry the fuck up!”

Julchen jumped, pulling herself from Elizaveta’s embrace and standing, grabbing her flute case and handbag.

“I’m sorry Elizaveta, I have to go. I’ll see you again soon though, I promise, ok?”

“Julchen, no, wait!”

But Julchen did not wait. She merely spared a sad look at Elizaveta before she ran out of the door, calling out to Thomas down the corridor, leaving Elizaveta sitting on the floor in a now empty dressing room.

**

_“Ah, Elizaveta, you’re ready to leave I take it? Give me a moment, I’m just up on stage.”_

“Roderich, where is she staying?”

_“…I’m sorry, who?”_

“You know who, stop being an ass! Julchen!”

She could almost hear the cogs of his brain whirring down the phone line as he sifted through the thousands of people on his territory to locate one that wasn’t quite his.

_“She’s in… room 231 on the fifth floor of Hotel Wolf-Dietrich, why do you...?"_

“Thanks, try not to get your panties in a twist about what I’m about to do.”

Then the penny dropped.

_“What you’re about to… oh god. Elizaveta no, don’t go there, don’t – ”_

She hung up, shoving her phone back into her pocket and continuing to storm down the Salzburg streets, waving for a taxi.

Mere moments after Julchen had swept out of the building in a panic Elizaveta had run out to the street after her, only to watch the car turn the corner and vanish into the night.

So she was doing the only thing she could do – she was following them.

She wasn’t leaving Julchen to face this alone. Not like Gilbert had been left to deal with dissolution or the captivity of being East Germany alone.

Not this time.

She waved frantically and finally a cab stopped, pulling up curtly to the edge of the cobblestoned street. Frantically, she climbed inside, giving the name of the hotel and the instruction to hurry before sitting back reluctantly and tapping her hands nervously on her thighs.

It was a tense fifteen minute trip, and every time they were stopped in traffic her heart beat a little faster in panic, driving her further into a flurry of anxiety.

What was happening to Julchen? Was he hurting her, was she terrified, would Elizaveta get there in time to stop anything if it happened?

She had no idea, and that was perhaps the worst thing.

The driver, luckily, had a driving style reminiscent of a certain Italian and had taken her instruction to hurry quite seriously, ducking and weaving through traffic and annoying and endangering several other road users as well as himself.

When they were only a few minutes away, Elizaveta felt a thrum from inside of her pocket, and she fished out her phone to find the thing she was perhaps dreading the most.

A text from Julchen, saying just one word.

_help_

Elizaveta’s blood ran cold, then burned hot with anger, sizzling through her veins with a fury she hadn’t felt for almost a century; not since they’d dissolved him.

When she got there, there would be nothing to stop her from punching Thomas so hard that his head came off, she swore to whatever God she still believed in.

The taxi rolled to a stop on the street Julchen was staying on and Elizaveta threw a haphazard collection of banknotes at the driver before tearing open the door so fast it almost came off its hinges. She stormed up the steps, sprinting inside, calling out in panic.

“Julchen? Julchen!”

She swept past the shocked receptionist, who stood and called after her – “Ma’am do you have a reservation” – and ran over to the staircase leading up to the rooms.

There was no time to wait for the elevator.

“Julchen I’m here!”

The staircase flew by under her racing feet, and before she knew it, she’d reached level four and was on her way ever upwards.

_Come on come on come on, one more flight…_

She was stopped in her tracks by the sound of someone sobbing.

Frowning, she slowed, listening, and it was then that she rounded the corner of the last landing to the hallway of the fifth floor and all her breath was sucked from her chest.

Thomas was kneeling on the carpet next to the wall, head bent low and arms wrapped around Julchen, whose eyes were wide and sightless and whose neck was limp and dangling.

There was a dash of red upon her brow and a matching stroke on the wall, and Thomas patted her cheek gently, voice unsteady, asking her to wake up.

Elizaveta felt her world shrink down to just this moment, her eyes widening and a sickly cold feeling creeping down her spine.

Julchen wasn’t waking up.

Thomas looked up as he noticed Elizaveta come into view, tears streaking his cheeks, and for once Elizaveta saw him exhibiting an emotion other than anger or smooth neutrality.

It was almost frightening.

With a sniff he nodded at her and started talking, his voice like that of a worried child’s.

“I… we were fighting, and she tried to leave and she… she tripped and hit the wall, and then there was this crack, and now… I didn’t mean it, it just happened!”

He trailed off, sobs racking his chest, and Elizaveta swallowed, an icy cold anger trickling through her veins and telling her to snap his neck in return and see how he liked it.

Everything on her was cold; her frozen heart, her blood like liquid ice.

But her voice was like the sound of a frozen waterfall shattering; the sound of impending danger, of thousands of frozen spears hurtling straight down and ready to impale any unfortunates where they stood.

She took a step closer to the pair on the floor.

“Have you called an ambulance?”

He looked up, frowning.

“No, not yet…”

Elizaveta said nothing, just pulled out her phone and punched in the number, reporting the incident with a deceptively smooth voice.

Inside, everything was cracking and breaking apart, the familiar grief held at bay for the past few weeks trickling between the broken pieces of glacier that was her heart. But her face was the tip of the iceberg, cold and impassive, showing none of the pain she felt.

Thomas just gaped as she tucked her phone away, calmly walking over and tucking Julchen’s hair behind her ears before sliding her eyes closed.

Elizaveta was familiar with death. She had seen far too much of it.

And now, she had seen even more.

Thomas just shook his head and whispered, his voice hoarse.

“How… how can you be so calm about this? You heartless bitch!”

Elizaveta stood, slowly, leaning down and gripping his hands just a little bit too tightly – what sweet revenge – and pulling them away from Julchen, laying her gently on the floor.

He frowned up at her, opening his mouth to speak, but then she gave him barely any warning before one of her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him up and pushing him back against the wall, his back meeting it with a thud.

“Would you like to know who is heartless? You. The only reason I haven’t come and dealt out what you are due is because the beautiful creature you just _murdered –_ ”

She waved a hand back towards Julchen, not breaking her gaze with Thomas’ dark eyes.

“ – wanted you to live, for some reason.”

He just opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, and Elizaveta shoved him back again, her eyes narrow.

“But know this, Thomas: if you ever treat anyone like you treated her, if you are ever _tempted_ to abuse another lover like a rough-and-tumble plaything to be used and wasted and _broken_ then I will find you, and I will remind you of this night, and I will _break_ you like you have broken her.”

She leaned a little closer, the dark part of her that yearned for bloodshed revelling in the look of pure terror in his eyes.

“I have lived for a thousand years, Thomas. I have seen kings and empires rise and fall, and I have seen good people be corrupted by greed and power. I have seen the deaths of paupers and heroes and have seen too many good men die in war. But I know from experience that there is no redemption for scum like you who use others for their own selfish gain. Never.”

She dropped him and he fell to the floor like a ragdoll, a hand on his chest, staring up at her.

“B-but I loved her!”

She turned, and he flinched at the fury in her eyes.

“Did you really? Or did you love the way she bent to your will for fear of angering you?”

He stuttered a response; but he could tell he’d lost, and bowed his head to Elizaveta’s withering stare.

Slowly, Elizaveta turned from him, walking calmly over to Julchen on the floor and kneeling beside her, her expression suddenly softening.

She looked down at the pale features on last time; at the messy dark hair spread out like a halo around her head and the bright blue eyes closed behind pale lids framed with dark lashes.

All she could think through the cold numbness overtaking her mind was just how painfully _fragile_ humans were; how breakable Gilbert was now.

Slowly, she leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to Julchen’s forehead, whispering gently.

“I promise the next time won’t be like this. I promise, Gilbert.”

She stroked the hair away from Julchen’s forehead one last time, then stood, offering nothing but a harsh glare to Thomas as she drifted past the paramedics on the stairs on the way out, their eyes glazing past her in favour of attending to the woman on the floor.

If she stayed they’d ask questions; questions that would get very difficult to answer if there wasn’t someone who happened to be Hungarian on the team.

So she left.

She descended two flights of stairs as though in a dream or a nightmare, passing a few straggling paramedics on the way down and a few hotel staff who were running up, all panicked as they ran past her without a word.

They seemed to have forgotten her mad dash through the lobby a few minutes earlier.

She didn’t care; all she could do was keep walking, feeling as her insides turned hollow and her legs beginning to collapse under her. But not here. Not yet.

Then, on the second floor, one final person came rounding the corner of the landing.

The one person she didn’t want to see right now.

Roderich was breathing heavily, one hand bracing himself on the banister and the other clutching his chest as he climbed the staircase doggedly – he had never been the paradigm of fitness and still wasn’t – and when he looked up and saw her, he stopped, eyes wide and face an absolute mask of horror.

“Elizaveta, what have you done?”

The words sank in, and all of a sudden she saw red.

What had _she_ done?

What had _he_ done, arranging all of this and then making sure that Elizaveta was there to see it all crash down in pieces around her? Trying to impress her with all these favours when really he was just waiting for the inevitable to happen and for it all to implode in on itself, and to see her break; to see her come crawling back to him like he was a lighthouse in a raging sea.

All of a sudden it all made sense; the fact that he’d come to them about Julchen, the fact that he hadn’t put Thomas in line when he’d showed up, the favour of helping her backstage… all so she could get attached to Gilbert again and then be broken when this happened.

He’d orchestrated it perfectly, as always.

He’d wanted this.

She grit her teeth, hand clenching the banister so hard it creaked.

“No, what have _you_ done, Roderich?”

She spat his name like a curse, and in barely a second she’d descended the few steps between them, snarling as her hands came out, grabbing the lapels of his coat.

He let out a little yelp, grabbing her wrists.

“Elizaveta…?!”

She growled.

“You _knew_ this was going to happen _,_ didn’t you?You knew about this, about Thomas, about _everything_ this whole time and you did _nothing,_ you just put me in the middle of it so I’d come crawling back to you when it all exploded! _”_

Her fists were trembling; her voice was wavering despite her rage. But she wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of him. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“You just let… let _this_ happen, let it go this far, when all it would have taken from you was one word to stop him, just one _fucking_ word, Roderich! All because of what, your ancient grudge that you just can’t let go of?! Or your jealousy that I chose him over you?!”

She twisted, pushing him against the wall and snarling in his face, revelling in how shocked he looked as she did so.

 “Elizaveta…”

“No! Just like everything else you’ve ever tried to do for me, _everything,_ you try to make it appear as though you’re helping when really you’ve just destroyed everything! Do you _know_ how long I waited to see him again?! _Do you know how much it hurts to lose him again?!_ ”

His gentle musician’s hands came to her wrists, trying to stop her fists from where they had started thumping against his chest.

 “Elizaveta, stop.”

But she didn’t hear him; or she didn’t listen. The effect was the same as she continued in her tirade, knowing she couldn’t really hurt him as she punctuated her words with punches to his chest, her anger burning bright as magnesium.

“It’s you, it’s always you who ruins everything, it always has been – it was one of yours that started the war, dragged Ludwig into it and got Gilbert dissolved, and now it’s one of yours that’s destroyed him again while you just stood by and watched like a fucking psychopath!”

“Elizaveta, in what universe would any of that be true?! For God’s sake, stop!”

With a jerk she stopped, frozen at the sudden snarling, furious tone in his voice and the steely rage on his face. His grip on her hands tightened, and she felt the strong pianists’ muscles in his fingers tightening around her wrists like manacles.

She had never seen him like this.

She had been married to him for over a century and she had seen him break and cry and dictate and give orders, but never, not once, had she heard him raise his voice like this; thrumming with barely restrained fury. She had almost thought he wasn’t capable of it.

Now he was visibly shaking with rage, his voice loud and furious, and she remembered why they had agreed to never talk about the war.

“Is this really what you think of me? That I’m some madman who sits at a piano and plots how to ruin your life? Tell me, why would I do that?”

His mouth was a hard line of rage, but his eyes… his eyes weren’t angry. Instead of being angry or scalding or cold, his eyes were full of heartbreak and a hurt that ran deeper than some grudge he’d held against a Nation long gone.

Elizaveta found herself wishing she could eat her words, now. A small part of her insisted weakly that this was just another trick, but there was something about this facet to him that was _too_ real.

He grasped her wrists firmly, his familiar violet eyes shining with raw emotion, catching and holding her.

“I didn’t like Gilbert, I’ll admit it, and yes I was bitter about the fact that he could make you happy where I couldn’t, but… hell Elizaveta, wish him dead? Of course I didn’t! I love you!”

The statement took her by surprise, and when he spoke again he had her complete attention.

“It was because I loved you so much that I had to let you go, and it was because I still love you so much that I had to love him, too, in my own way!”

She could feel her anger draining away from her like cooling lava, and in its place all she could feel was the cold stone of grief weighing on her chest and the sickly creep of guilt on the nape of her neck.

But Roderich was still speaking, and all she could do was listen, even as he finally broke his stare and took a hand away from her wrists, placing it on his chest and trying to compose himself. His hand was shaking.

“All I have ever wanted was to see you happy, and if being with him was what made you happy, then that was what I wanted too, even if it wounded me and even if it still pains me, centuries later – all I want is to be able to see you laugh again, or smile again.”

Tentatively, he looked up again, pleading.

“I… I’ve missed your smile. It was always so beautiful. And when you were with Julchen, it finally came out again.”

It was that statement, quiet and subdued, that broke her.

In the absence of her anger, Elizaveta found herself collapsing in and with nothing to hold her up, her knees gave out as the dammed walls of her grief broke and she gave her first sob.

Then Roderich’s arms were around her, and despite her promise to herself, she found herself clutching him for dear life and sobbing into his shoulder, feeling one of his hands wrap itself tightly around her waist and the other rest on her upper back, stroking her hair gently as it cascaded down her back.

Her anger was gone, now, and she cried for everything that had happened. For the joy of meeting Gilbert again, for the happiness of being able to spend time with him, and the heart shattering sadness of losing him again, seeing the light gone from those eyes and knowing that he was once again lost to her.

Roderich’s anger was gone too, it seemed – his wavering voice was soft when he whispered in her ear.

“Sometimes the ones we love don’t love us back, Elizaveta. Sometimes all we can do is watch them love someone else, and sometimes…”

His voice caught; it took a moment before he spoke again.

“…sometimes we just have to watch them destroy themselves while they do.”

She took a gasping sob as though to reply, and he patted her back gently.

“I know what you’re feeling, Elizaveta – that’s been my life for the past few centuries. I just wish you didn’t have to go through it as well.”

She pressed her face a little tighter to his shoulder, knowing he was talking about her and not wanting to see the bitter expression he was no doubt wearing.

But then she pulled her face back from his shoulder to look him in the eye, and she couldn’t see a single trace of bitterness anywhere in his tired features.

All she could see was sadness, and underneath that, a solemn patience.

A patience borne of centuries of waiting; a patience that came from knowing you’d had what you wanted and lost it; a patience that stemmed from letting go of what you loved and waiting for it to return, knowing it never would.

Slowly and faintly, she smiled, and then he smiled back – and despite the immense sadness she could see settled on his shoulders, mirroring her own, it was the smile of one who took everything he was given as a gift and asked for nothing more; the smile of someone who needed nothing more from her but her friendship.

Finally, in those tired violet eyes, she could see the old Roderich; _her_ Roderich. She could see the man whose music had always delighted her; the Roderich who’d waltzed her around countless ballrooms with a breathless smile on his face; the Roderich who had taken the news that she didn’t love him with a stoic nod and told her to do what made her happy.

The Roderich who had been her friend, and who had only just now surfaced after years of bitterness and regret to hold her and tell her that everything would be alright as it fell apart around her.

The Roderich who was strong in ways she never could be; who would help her get through this with patience and gentle affection and be ready to let her go when she wanted to be free.

Sighing, she pressed her face back to his shoulder and hugged him tightly, feeling his arms encircle her carefully and his cheek press to her head.

 “I’ve missed you, Roderich.”

She could feel his smile at her hairline, and sighed when he pulled her a little closer.

“I’ve missed you too, Elizaveta.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: Yes I’m alive  
> Bad news: this chapter killed me (10,000 words because I couldn't shut up and characterisation is blergh and my writing is ergh, I just... UGH)  
> We’re almost done now, just one chapter left and something of a resolution to go. My Uni schedule is hectic though and it might be some time before it gets posted. If you're still reading this, thankyou so much for sticking with it, I'm absolutely terrible at this "write to deadlines" thing, as you can tell.


	5. Frederich: Part One

_-Twenty Years Later-_

Ludwig was having perhaps the worst day he’d had in a long time.

First, his alarm chose that morning to die after several years of dependability, and even though he was awake by a quarter past six anyway because his body clock hadn’t really failed him yet, his mental schedule had been off by fifteen minutes all day.

Then, he got in to the military barracks to find that the drill sergeant was gravely ill and there was no-one to welcome the cadets that had been recruited recently to swell the ranks of Germany’s army just in case the war with Russia actually came to a head and they came to blows.

Just in case nuclear weaponry didn’t destroy them all first.

It had been optimistically theorised that if all of Europe and Asia united against Russia they’d be able to take the monolithic country down, even with England’s support weakened because of Australia and New Zealand’s recent declaration of independence and separation from the Commonwealth. With the establishment of the Oceanic Partnership, they’d promptly refused to do England’s bidding any longer and seemed content to stay isolated on their islands and leave Europe to itself. Which wasn’t great news for Europe.

Thus far it had just been a few decades of Cold War-like political tensions, but with America’s economy in the dirt there was no threat of nuclear war between he and Russia – leaving a constant stress between all the Nations, particularly in Europe and the Middle East, that stretched patience and tempers to the very limit.

Germany had tried his best to declare neutrality, but the majority of his people wouldn’t hear of it despite the catastrophe that had been Germany at war a century before.

There was nothing he could do at this stage but hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

It was at times like these that Ludwig wished more than ever he had an eternally patient brother standing over his shoulder, supporting him with a grin and a new strategy and assuring him that they’d get through this.

But he supposed they couldn’t have everything.

Today he was meant to be showing a select few politicians around the military barracks in secret so that they were informed, but with the hope that the media didn’t get wind of the fact that Germany was building up its army, even if it was just in a defensive capacity. God knows if that happened then the Nazi references would never stop and god help him he’d be condemned by the entire EU; or what was left of it. Upon arrival at the barracks however, he was accosted by the general and asked if he wouldn’t mind standing in and running the new recruits through their paces.

“Of course not”, he said.

_Why me,_ he thought.

But as always, he just sighed and did as he was told, and five minutes later he was pacing evenly down the corridor that led to the courtyard. As he rounded the corner he heard the sounds of a scuffle and raised voices, and he frowned, standing a little taller and picking up his pace. He opened the door to the courtyard in a panic, nearly launching himself through it, expecting assassins or offensive forces from Russia or, god help him, a media frenzy interrogating his new recruits.

But, as he threw the door open, he found none of those things.

Instead, there was one recruit standing in the courtyard.

The rest were all lying on the floor or sitting against the wall, holding heads or bruised arms, watching the one recruit left standing as he implemented an expert headlock on another girl, cackling manically as the poor girl beat at his arms and pleaded for mercy.

“Ha, you think I’m gonna be merciful just ‘cos you’re a girl? I’ve heard that before, and it’s not gonna cut it!”

Ludwig cleared his throat, and with a jolt, the recruit turned and locked panicked eyes with Ludwig.

Brown eyes.

Brown eyes that, when side on to the rising sun like they were now glinted a little bit red, in a face with a grin that was just a little bit too familiar, crowned by hair that was just a little bit _too_ pale blond to be normal.

All of Ludwig’s breath escaped his lungs in one long woosh.

“Oh my god…”

**

Suddenly woken from her bored half-doze, Elizaveta’s head shot up and her brows furrowed as she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Across the table from her, her President and Vice President sat in deep conversation, hardly seeming to notice her sudden concern as they discussed economy and budget and whether they could afford to expand the military. Again.

Furtively, she snuck her hand into her pocket and drew out her phone, glancing quickly down at the screen to find out the identity of the caller.

_Ludwig Beilschmidt_

Her frown just grew deeper.

Ludwig of all people should know that she was busy in a meeting – they were in an alliance now, after all. Just a precaution in case Russia ever actually started the war they were all waiting for, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

But if Ludwig was calling her, it must mean something important. Possibly something dangerous.

She didn’t want to risk not answering it.

Slowly, she stood, nodding at her President and Vice President, who barely spared her a nod in return before she ducked out into the hallway of the meeting room and answered the call.

“Hèllo Ludwig, what’s going on?”

_“Elizaveta, thank god. I’m so sorry to bother you, I know you were busy, it’s just…”_

“Yes?”

There was a moment where Ludwig stuttered several half syllables, and then, a heavy sigh.

_“I have this er… delinquent, I suppose, in my office right now in the military barracks in Berlin. He thinks he’s in here for roughhousing the other recruits, but er…”_

Ludwig paused, and from the other end of the line Elizaveta could hear another faint voice.

_“What? You mean I’m NOT in here for that? What’s even going on here?!”_

There was something familiar about the voice, but Elizaveta couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was, and she frowned in thought. Then Ludwig spoke again, quieter, so that the person in the room he was standing outside wouldn’t hear him, she supposed.

_“The truth is… well, I think you’ll just have to come and see.”_

Elizaveta just frowned deeper, then remembered Ludwig couldn’t see her.

“Ludwig, what – ”

_“Can you make it here anytime soon?”_

She sighed. Ludwig was as stubborn as all hell, and if he didn’t want to be pushed then he wasn’t going to be pushed.

But… she was a little sick from the conversation of economy and poverty. The Euro hadn’t been doing well for the past several years, meaning that all of Europe had been dragged down with it, and every single meeting she went to was just repetitive discussions of where exactly the national budget should go while she felt her people suffering in the onset of winter.

Her leaders could sort out – or just argue over – whatever they were discussing without her, she was willing to bet. There was something else she wanted to see to.

“I could catch the next bullet train, should be about forty minutes from here?”

Silence; she could almost hear him nodding curtly.

_“Excellent. Thankyou, I’ll see you then.”_

**

Frederich Müller was having one of the strangest days of his life so far.

First, he’d woken up early and mustered in the courtyard at the barracks like the cadets had been instructed to the day before – ten minutes early, as was his wont. Happily, he had stretched a bit, whistled tunelessly and settled down to wait for further instruction as slowly, the other recruits arrived and did the same as him.

Then, they’d waited.

And waited.

Fifteen minutes after the time they’d been instructed to arrive at there was no sign of the instructor or superior who was meant to be meeting them… had there been a mixup?

Then, the asshole at the end of the line had started up about how he thought Germans were supposed to be punctual, geez, now the military wasn’t even running to schedule and the administration was ten times better than this at home.

Stupid Austrian prick.

So of course Frederich had _had_ to put the guy in his place, and after that everyone _else_ had wanted to blow off some steam from nervous energy, so Frederich found himself expertly showing off the Judo skills he’d mastered before leaving home in the north to join the military.

It was then he heard the door open, and turned to meet the shocked gaze of a tall, well built, very authoritative, very _angry_ looking man.

And for some reason, Frederich swore up and down that he’d seen him before somewhere, or that he’d known him years ago. Maybe they’d gone to the same school as kids or something…?

He barely had time to ponder it before the man, instead of screaming at him like he’d expected, merely ushered him hurriedly out of the courtyard and into a small office that was tucked away at the back of the barracks.

It was then that the day had turned truly strange.

After sitting him down in a chair in the office the man had left him, made a very strange phone call in hushed tones, and then told him to wait, leaving him alone in the office for over half an hour.

Outside he could hear the man lecturing the other recruits on where to go and what to do and issuing timetables for training, and he merely sighed, slumping down in the chair and twiddling his thumbs – and if anyone asked, no he was _not_ pouting. He was just… _disappointed_ that he didn’t get to start on his training right away after scoring 98.5% on the entrance exam and being told they would be keeping a “special eye” on him. He’d been so excited to start and now he was being made to wait even longer in this stupid office that was so clean and tidy that he couldn’t even absentmindedly neaten anything while he waited.

Stupid barracks, stupid familiar-looking man, stupid –

Then the door opened, and Frederich’s thought process sharply ground to a halt.

Into the office was stepping a woman, her green eyes seeming to sparkle as she looked at him and her lips turned up in the sweetest smile as she looked down at him.

He swallowed, unable to look away.

Like the blonde man, she looked extremely familiar – like he’d known her as a child but they hadn’t met for years, or like she belonged to a set of memories he no longer had.

That was a strange thought.

But the longer he looked the more he found that he could _almost_ remember her. Everything about her seemed more than just slightly familiar, from her heart shaped face and long, thick brown hair that swirled around her like a cloak to the pink flower securing it over her right ear.

For some unexplained reason he felt a strange sense of pride rush through his chest as he saw the flower, and his fingers twitched, itching to run through those brown locks, just like… like he’d used to?

What?

Then she spoke to the blonde man, and though her voice was low and kind of gruff it sounded familiar, like the voice you hear greeting you as you come home after a long day.

He found himself almost sighing in relief, and he shook his head and grimaced.

She’d literally just walked in, what on earth was wrong with him? Where was all this coming from?

He jumped when she addressed him, her Hungarian accent lilting and sweet.

“So, Frederich, Ludwig tells me there was a bit of an issue this morning, is that true?”

Frederich swallowed, trying to ignore the way his name felt right and wrong in her mouth at the same time – like it was the right voice but the wrong name. Or something.

He blinked hard, looking up to the man standing behind her, who raised his brows expectantly. Frederich just smirked at him a bit.

“Well yes, I assume so. I mean, he hasn’t exactly told me what the issue is.”

She turned to “Ludwig” curiously, who sighed and frowned at Frederich like he was scolding a mischievous child.

“He was fighting with the other recruits this morning when I went out to induct them.”

She nodded, turning back to Frederich, and he frowned up at her, still trying to place her.

Lived on his street? No, no girls had ever lived on his street…

Went to kindergarten with him? No, the only girl anywhere near his age at kindergarten with him had been Angie, his little sister, who was only a year younger than him.

First year of school? No, he would remember her if that was the case…

The woman spoke again, and once again she had his full attention immediately.

“Frederich, I hope you know that here in the military we don’t tolerate fighting amongst recruits. We’re here to fight a common enemy, not each other.”

He cringed, looking up at the woman’s expression, which had turned steely and hard. He looked around her at the other man in the office, taking in his grim smile.

His eyes widened with sudden panic.

“You’re not going to send me packing, are you?”

The woman just narrowed her eyes, but he felt like there was more than just anger at him in her expression.

Something like regret, or dismay.

“Yes, cadet. We very well may. In fact…”

She turned to Ludwig, raising her eyebrows.

“I think it might be _wisest_ for all involved that you were sent home, bags in hand, away from any action you might possibly see.”

Ludwig looked horrified, and stepped forward with a worried “Elizaveta…”

Frederich sat as still as though he were made of ice, half of him realising that her name couldn’t possibly be anything other than Elizaveta, that felt familiar as well – and the other half panicking and unable to process anything other than “they’re going to send me home”.

Elizaveta looked braced, as though she expected him to scream at her, perhaps try and start something physical.

But Frederich did none of that.

Instead, his face fell, and he felt a dozen pleas fly around his head. They couldn’t send him home, they couldn’t… if they did he would have proven everyone at home right, that he was a violent freeloader; an erratic idiot who hadn’t outgrown childhood hyperactivity and would never make anything of himself due to a short attention span, nothing like his intellectual thrice-published historian younger sister. The military had been one of the only things that had made sense, one of the only things he’d been truly _good_ at, even if it was just the entrance exam, and now…

“No,” he whispered, and something in Elizaveta’s face shifted as she looked down at him. He looked away, praying that it wasn’t pity in her expression, like everyone else.

“Please, I need to stay. You don’t understand, I _need_ to be here.”

There was a silence, in which his mind produced nothing but a mantra of _pleasepleasepleaseplease._

Then, somehow, when Elizaveta spoke again, voice quiet, it felt like she was talking to someone else who wasn’t quite Frederich.

The strangest part was that he was still absolutely sure she was talking to him.

“And what do you do if you stay? Throw yourself into a war that will most likely kill you? Why? Why would you waste your life here?”

Frederich just shook his head, looking down and away.

“I belong here. As soon as I stepped into the barracks I knew. There’s something here that I’m meant to do; I’m meant to help, whether that’s just service or… or whatever. But please, just… don’t send me home.”

He looked up imploringly, and in front of him, Elizaveta seemed to be speechless. Soundlessly she just gaped at him, as though he were some kind of anomaly, and he found himself staring back, drowning in her bright green eyes.

Then finally, Ludwig broke the stare by stepping closer, and Elizaveta turned to him. He frowned at her, shaking his head minutely.

Something seemed to pass between them, and then he turned to Frederich, who looked up at him and cleared his throat, a bit bashful for having been so emotional.

Ludwig nodded at him.

“We won’t be sending you home, don’t worry.”

Frederich let out a huff of relief – but then Ludwig straightened, eyeing Frederich with a narrowed gaze that immediately set him on edge. It was as though Ludwig was no longer on the back foot like he had seemed to be all morning, and Frederich felt like he’d lost an advantage he hadn’t been aware he’d had.

“However… Frederich, tell me. Why are you here? In the military?”

Frederich smiled cautiously at him and then glanced to Elizaveta, not really having his measure of either of them yet. But there was something behind Elizaveta’s eyes that held a question, like he too was a face she knew from somewhere and was waiting for him to ask where, and something in Frederich’s chest that leapt in a strange, misplaced hope.

Finally though, he shrugged and answered Ludwig’s question, not taking his gaze from Elizaveta’s.

“I joined to see action and protect my country, like most people. It felt right.”

He looked up at Ludwig, trying to gauge whether this was the right answer – but Ludwig just looked to Elizaveta, who nodded, fixing Frederich with a hard stare, clearing her throat and continuing where Ludwig had left off.

“And clearly you think it’s a serious option for your future?”

Frederich nodded gravely, not breaking eye contact. “Yeah, of course I’m serious. It’s not exactly a joke, unless you believe the tabloids.”

Ludwig shifted uncomfortably at the mention of newspapers and the media, looking out the window of the office distractedly. Elizaveta just tilted her head, narrowing her eyes slightly at Frederich as he watched Ludwig with a frown.

“Then I would be careful not to jeopardise your position by starting petty fights with your peers. If this is as important to you as you’ve made it out to be, you don’t want to be sent home for something as insignificant as an inability to keep the peace.”

Frederich looked back to her, offended, opening his mouth to speak – only to have Ludwig cut him off, speaking as he looked out the window.

“She’s right, cadet. Although your comrades seem fine after your little scramble today your behaviour was unacceptable. Now – ”

Again Ludwig turned and eyed Elizaveta over Frederich’s head, raising his brows slightly. Something seemed to pass silently between them, and then Ludwig turned back to Frederich.

“ – we’re done here. Please wait in the corridor outside, I’ll be with you in a minute to take you back to rejoin your battalion.”

Frederich sighed, clearing his throat and standing, nodding curtly in a way that had Elizaveta giving him a tiny smile, for some reason.

Then he walked to the door, closing it firmly behind him – and no sooner had he done so then he heard two very pronounced sighs coming from within, and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing his ear to the seam between door and frame and listening intently, feeling somehow protective of these two people he’d only just met.

For a moment, there was silence, and he wondered if he’d be able to hear anything.

Then, Ludwig spoke.

“Elizaveta, are you alright?”

A few footsteps – he was stepping closer to her, probably. She sighed and responded.

“I just… I’m just worried. The military Ludwig? _Really?”_

“I know. Not my ideal situation either, but I don’t want to drive him away and lose him. He came to us this time, it’d take a lot of looking to find him again.”

Frederich frowned. _Again…?_

There were footsteps, and he heard pens clinking together. Ludwig was probably straightening the pot of pens on his desk that had already been arranged in both colour and ink level, damn him.

Then, Ludwig said the strangest thing.

 “You know, when I first saw him I thought I might be wrong. Gilbert was never this serious.”

Elizaveta responded, and Frederich could hear the affectionate smile in her voice.

“I think you forget that we’re talking about the military. He was always uncharacteristically serious about the military, Ludwig, do you not remember the time Roderich suggested the exact same thing?”

Ludwig responded, that same smile in his own gruff voice.

“What was it he said? Whatever it was I remember there being punches thrown.”

Elizaveta giggled softly.

“It was “you’re far too serious about marching drills, lighten up a little”, to which Gilbert thumped his fist on the table and screamed “I’m light as air, you pansy”. _Then_ he punched Roderich in the face.”

Ludwig chuckled, and Frederich stared point blank at the door, eyes made dizzy by woodgrain and wondering what to make of any of this. A hundred questions spun through his head, but the most pressing one screamed the loudest – Who in the hell was Gilbert? And why did he sound so goddamn _familiar?_

Ludwig sighed.

“Do you think it really is him? And if it is, what do we do now?”

The sound of footsteps again, and then Elizaveta’s voice came from closer to where Ludwig was standing.

“Ludwig, I think you’d know your brother anywhere. The problem is that he doesn’t know you. All we can do now is… well, wait and hope.”

Frederich’s frown grew deeper.

So… Gilbert was Ludwig’s brother? Then why was he relevant to Frederich? What was this conversation even _about?_

Then, yet again, Ludwig shattered any idea Frederich had about this conversation that made sense.

“Elizaveta, it’s alright. I’m sure he will remember, given time. Julchen was close, and Frederich will have more time than her, I’m sure of it.”

What. The. _Fuck._

This conversation made less and less sense the more he listened to it, and yet he couldn’t pull his ear away from the door. Not even when he heard Elizaveta’s voice and footsteps grow closer to the door as though she were about to open it.

 “I suppose… I suppose you’re right. Keep him safe for me, yes?”

Her hand jiggled on the doorknob, and Frederich leapt away from the door like he’d been burned, straightening up and trying to look natural as Elizaveta opened the door and locked eyes with him.

She immediately froze, hand still on the doorknob, Ludwig appearing behind her with a concerned expression.

Elizaveta’s voice was barely a whisper.

“You... you were listening, weren’t you?”

Frederich shrugged, unable to look away.

“You were talking about me. And these walls aren’t exactly thick.”

She looked back at Ludwig, who pursed his lips and then shook his head in defeat. Elizaveta turned back to Frederich, sighing deeply.

“What… what would you like to know?”

She didn’t seem angry – instead, her face held a sort of resigned hope; like there had been a secret that had gotten out too early and she was preparing to face the consequences.

Behind her, Ludwig’s stony visage held a sort of expectant neutrality – no anger there, either.

Regardless, Frederich spoke nervously, hoping his own curiosity wasn’t about to get him thrown out where his scuffle this morning hadn’t.

“Who are you, actually? And uh, have we met before? Because it seems like we have but I can’t put my finger on when or where and I’d really like a hint.”

There was silence in the hallway then, Elizaveta biting her lip and Ludwig watching her intently, waiting for her response.

She seemed to think deeply on something for several moments, staring down at her floral patterned ballet flats with her brows drawn tight together in a frown. Frederich watched her expectantly; feeling like something monumental to his life was about to fall into place as Ludwig stared likewise at her, waiting patiently.

Then finally, she looked up, locking eyes with Frederich, and his heart stopped as he saw the beginnings of tears gathering at the corners of her bright green eyes.

Then she spoke, voice wavering.

“I’m sorry. I… I thought I could do this, but I can’t I… I can’t do this again.”

Then, she turned and strode away, head lowered as though trying to block the world out.

Ludwig ran after her, calling her name – but she didn’t stop, her footsteps slowly fading until there was nothing but silence. Frederich was left standing outside the door, recalling her crestfallen face and feeling the strange urge to run to and comfort her, a woman he’d only just met and couldn’t possibly know anything about.

So… a man who looked familiar, a woman who was even more so, coupled with the strangest reprimand he’d ever received and something about some guy named Gilbert.

It sure had been one hell of a strange morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I'm so sorry this has taken so long! I tried to write and stalled so many times on this chapter... but since Nanowrimo started this year it's started flowing so much easier, and now it's gotten so long it's turned into about four chapters. I don't know it's my best writing but at this point I'm just trying to finish this so you can all finally get some closure...  
> The chapters should all be up before the end of the month, I swear this time.


	6. Frederich: Part Two

_-Two Months Later-_

The café was warm and bright – the dark-stained wooden furniture leant a homely, cosy atmosphere to the soft clink of spoons on mugs and the muted murmur of conversation. Outside, pedestrians hurried to their destinations, struggling against the wind of the chilly day and shivering at the occasional fleck of snow that drifted down and nestled between neck and collar.

At a table by the window, gazing out at the white world beyond, there sat a dark haired man and brown haired woman, exchanging comfortable silence between them as they sat on opposite sides of the table.

To the casual observer it was clear that the two had a history; the way he gazed at her profile as she looked out the window and took a sip of her hot chocolate, or the way she knew to pass the sugar without him asking for it. But there was something about them that seemed tired, as well – as though the relationship was old and run down, and all passion that had once been had long since burned away, leaving only a companionable friendship.

Any onlooker could see that there was something old and comfortable about the pair, like a pair of well-loved slippers – but there was also something on edge as well.

Although she wasn’t exactly uneasy, the woman kept staring out of the window as though she were worlds away, the grim set of her mouth betraying the fact that she wasn’t just idly daydreaming. In turn, he eyed her with something like concern as he leaned across the table and covered her hand gently with his own.

“Elizaveta, what is it? You look worried.”

Elizaveta jumped, pulling her head from her palm and looking up, looking almost shocked to find herself in the small Viennese café sitting opposite Roderich, who was nursing a Vienna coffee and looking at her curiously, as usual.

She just sighed.

“Nothing, I just… long day, that’s all.”

He smiled gently.

“My dear, it’s only noon. What could possibly have you contemplating the problems of the universe so early?”

She smiled cheekily. “Roderich, some of us actually start the day before ten.”

He waved a hand nonchalantly, smiling fondly.

“Nevermind that, back to the matter at hand. You had some sort of meeting this morning, didn’t you? Was it Frederich?”

Elizaveta’s small smile quickly faded, and she bit her lip a little in thought, wondering what exactly she should say.

As had been the case for months now, Frederich was on her mind far more than he should have been, and she was becoming more and more at a loss of what to do.

She hadn’t seen the man since their first meeting and had made a point not to, but after the conference she’d just had that morning Ludwig had been telling her that Frederich was asking increasingly difficult questions – “What exactly is your position in the military”, or “How can you possibly know everyone’s full name”, or “how long have you actually been here, no-one can remember a time when you weren’t but you only look twenty-five” – he was thinking that Frederich was now high up enough in the ladder to fill him in on things.

The only problem was, because they were introducing him via a military channel, and because she and Ludwig were allies in that respect and working closely together, she’d have to be there too.

She’d have to see Frederich again, and she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with that – not after their first meeting. And especially not when she had to explain who exactly she was.

 Roderich interrupted her train of thought, setting his coffee cup down on the table with a soft clink and looking up levelly at her.

“Have you actually spoken to him yet? Ludwig can’t stop talking about him, but what about you? I never hear you mention him.”

She shifted uncomfortably.

“I… well, yes, we have spoken.”

She paused, and he looked up, raising his eyebrows. She sighed.

“There’s just some issues.”

He frowned, looking down at his coffee. “What kind of issues? I thought you’d be dying to see him. God knows with Julchen you could barely keep from seeing her every few days.”

She winced.

“Well, yes and no. I… I’ve decided to let Ludwig have him this time.”

He looked up, his permanently creased brow even more furrowed than usual.

“Whatever for? He’s not some plaything that only one person gets to use at a time, he’s a human being. There’s no reason why both of you couldn’t “share” him, so to speak.”

She bit her lip, running out of excuses.

“I… we don’t get along.”

Blatant lie, dangerous. Roderich picked up on that instantly, a single eyebrow rising slowly.

She immediately remembered every single instance he’d ever made that face at her and she’d wanted to rip that eyebrow off and shove it down his throat, and added the current moment to the bottom of the very long list.

After a second, Roderich spoke, his voice a dry and lengthy drawl.

“Not getting along didn’t stop you the first time, you and Gilbert fought more than you and I did. What makes Frederich so different?”

She stuttered for a second, watching as the other eyebrow slowly rose to join the first in a quizzical expression and feeling rage boil up.

God, she’d forgotten how infuriatingly sensible Roderich was sometimes.

“He’s just… well, he’s reckless for one – he physically assaulted his entire section on his first day. He’s got a smart mouth that Ludwig thinks is funny for some reason, and the first time he saw me he spent the whole time gaping at me like some sort of fish and it’s just… I don’t know if I honestly want someone like that around.”

She crossed her arms and looked up to scowl at Roderich, only to find he was staring at her with a wistful smile on his face.

She frowned. “What?”

“We’ve had this conversation before, I hope you realise. Over a century ago, now.”

She huffed, looking away.

“This is nothing like that conversation.”

“No, I really think it is. You’re complaining about all the traits that you secretly always loved about him, and it’ll end with you realising that you’re hopelessly in love with him and me telling you to do what seems right.”

He looked back down at his coffee, sighing.

“Hopefully this time I will have done away with the delusion that I want you to love me and there’ll be less heartbreak on my part.”

She shifted uncomfortably, but he hardly seemed to notice as he silently stirred his coffee, brows knitted together.

“So you’re absolutely sure you don’t want to talk to him?”

“Not at all. I don’t want to do this again, Roderich. Not after last time.”

He looked up at that, eyes narrowing, and Elizaveta scowled as she knew that he’d figured out exactly what was lying at the heart of the matter in that infuriating way of his and was about to attack it ruthlessly.

“Ah.”

She groaned.

“What?”

He put down his spoon and folded his hands on the table, fixing her with his violet gaze.

“So, you’ve managed to convince yourself that everything was your fault, have you?”

“What? I… No!”

“You’ve decided that you’re some harbinger of death and that you should stay away from the people you love to keep them safe in some strange form of self-sacrifice?”

“Roderich, please.”

The gaze narrowed, and she felt like a small child getting scolded.

“Please _what,_ Elizaveta? I promised I’d make sure you were happy, and no matter how you’ve justified it to yourself this is not going to make you nor him happy! He came back for you, didn’t he? Isn’t that what you told me?”

He paused, frowning deeply at her, and she fidgeted a little under his unwavering gaze.

It was true – over the last twenty years she’d always thought that she’d always want to see him again if she could, any way she could, and that he returned the sentiment, but now, after the disaster of pain that had been Julchen…

She felt guilty. She’d been one of the indirect reasons for his death last time – she’d goaded Thomas and said she’d protect Julchen and then she hadn’t, what if… what if he blamed her? Somewhere in the back of his mind, what if he _knew_ that it had been her and her stubbornness that had made him suffer? What if he hated her for it?

Some small part of her had whispered that that was impossible, that they’d loved each other – but that had been three lifetimes ago; he’d promised he’d always come back for her three lifetimes ago. Things had probably changed.

So she was left with the resolution that the more distance they had the less likely he was to hate her and the less she was going to hurt him.

She looked up at Roderich, who was staring at her curiously. She shook her head.

“Roderich, I can’t. I can’t do this to myself, I can’t do it to Ludwig, I can’t…”

Her voice cracked, and she looked down at the floor, her hands balled into fists in her lap.

“… I won’t hurt either of them like this again.”

Roderich sighed, looking down and playing gently with the handle of his coffee cup before picking it up and taking a sip, meeting her gaze levelly.

She sighed exasperatedly.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

He shrugged.

“I just think that’s a little silly. Not to mention overdramatic.”

She gave a little _tsk_ sound, folding her arms.

“Oh please, _you’re_ telling _me_ that _I’m_ overdramatic?”

Those thrice-cursed eyebrows went up again, and she grit her teeth and clenched the tablecloth to keep from punching them off his face.

Roderich just hummed, scooping some whipped cream from the plate next to his coffee cup and ladling it in.

“Well, do you really think you deserve punishment for the cosmic decisions of the universe?”

Silence; he looked up at her over his glasses imperiously, and she huffed, staring out the window.

Softly, he reached out a hand to cover hers on the table.

“He makes you happy, Elizaveta, you cannot deny it. He always has. I think you’d be a fool to let his lifetime slip past while you hold yourself in contempt for things long since done and finished. Not to mention things that weren’t even your fault.”

She bit her lip, a cold feeling settling in her gut, and she looked back up at Roderich as he withdrew his hand from hers, words slipping past her lips without obtaining permission from her brain first.

“Roderich, he’s… he’s going to die.”

Without skipping a beat, Roderich spoke, not even looking away from the cup in front of him.

“Yes, eventually. So will we, someday, when our borders mean nothing and no-one remembers our names.”

He looked up, fixing her with a steely gaze.

“But where does it say you shouldn’t enjoy what time you have? Why were we given life at all if not to spend it on the things that make us happy?”

She just met that gaze for a moment, unable to think of anything to say to that. She looked down at her forgotten and slowly cooling hot chocolate while slowly, Roderich lifted his coffee cup and sipped daintily.

“I think another meeting is just what you need. You know, clear some things up and introduce yourselves properly. I’m sure once you do you’ll have lots to talk about.”

She just sighed.

“And how did you know Ludwig was trying to arrange another meeting?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t. But you just told me, didn’t you? Looks like Ludwig knows what he’s doing. I always knew Gilbert must have done something right when he was raising him.”

She groaned, putting her head down on the table.

“Elizaveta dear, that’s not polite. Elbows and heads off the table, if you please.”

God, she hated him when he was like this.

But all the same, after everything that had happened between them his friendship was still one of the lighthouses of her life, and she didn’t know what she’d do without him.

Funny how that worked.

**

_-One week later-_

Elizaveta fidgeted nervously with the hem of her skirt as she sat in Ludwig’s office, hearing the clock on the wall and feeling it turn her nerves a little tighter with each tick.

Ludwig had gone to get coffee, saying that Frederich would ask for it anyway when he came for his meeting - but she could see his fists clenching and unclenching as he left the room. He was nervous too.

It wasn’t just meeting Frederich again that had them nervous though – even on her part. It was the unknown of how he’d react to the information of who they were.

Explaining to their people who they were had been a lot easier before the study of science had existed and become so widespread. People were a lot more inclined to believe in borderline supernatural beings that represented the spirit of the Nation when the barbarians were invading from the north and the black plague ravaged the streets. But nowadays…

Well, leaders took a little more convincing nowadays. Direct skin to skin touch was still always a last resort - sustaining it for too long made humans a bit seasick and dazed – but most of them still preferred a lot of talking before they got to that point. Or stupid stunts displaying their immortality, in some cases.

Whatever the method the end game was the same; they were trusting a human with their identity as the embodiment of a Nation, and hoping to god they would react calmly.

But… Frederich was different. Frederich had _been_ a Nation once, they were fairly sure.

Elizaveta still wasn’t sure what would happen if they introduced the concept to him - would he reject it? Or would he accept it without questioning it?

Or would he perhaps even remember something?

She just didn’t know.

Julchen had known who they were and hadn’t remembered anything, but Julchen was different from Frederich in a lot of ways. Elizaveta simply just didn’t know him well enough to know what he’d do.

She twisted the fabric of her skirt tightly between her fingers, tapping her feet restlessly.

Then, there was a sharp knock on the door, and she jerked to her feet, expecting Ludwig with a tray of coffee needing help with the handle and darting over to the door to open it.

Instead, when she opened it, there stood a nervous looking Frederich, straightening his presentation uniform before looking up and breaking into a huge grin when he locked eyes with her.

“Elizaveta! I’d wondered when I’d be able to see you again!”

She smiled weakly, waving him inside and closing the door after him.

“Oh, I uh… I’m always around, it was bound to happen eventually.”

He followed her to Ludwig’s desk, sitting down in the other chair in front of it.

“Yeah, but I wanted to ask you whether you were alright after last time, you seemed upset… I’m sorry if I was rude or anything, I didn’t mean to be.”

She just sighed, smiling a little as he leant forward with a worried expression on his face.

“No, you were polite enough. I was having a uh… a bit of a bad day, that’s all.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“So, I was wrong about the meeting thing, wasn’t I?”

She frowned. “What?”

“I asked you last time we met, remember? Whether we’d met before. Then you kind of… left. I assumed I was wrong and I was thinking of someone else… but was I?”

She just stared at him for a few moments where he leant forward eagerly in his chair, then bit her lip in thought.

It took her a few moments before she settled on something to say - and it slipped out before she could think better of it.

“Let me put it this way - we’ve never met before in _your_ life, Frederich.”

Frederich frowned, opening his mouth to say something - likely to ask her what the hell that meant - but then the door was once again knocked on sharply, and Elizaveta leapt up to open it, finally revealing Ludwig juggling the tray of much awaited coffee, which she took from him and went to put on the desk.

Which would have been fine – if not for the fact that Frederich had somehow left his chair and followed her to the door without making a sound, and was now standing very closely behind her.

As she turned, she gave a shocked jump at his sudden unexpected closeness, the tray colliding with his midsection, and as the cups wobbled, his hands came out to gently cover hers and steady their grip on the tray.

She sighed. “Thankyou Frederich, I - ”

She looked from the coffee cups to her hands. Her bare hands, that were now covered by Frederich’s bare hands.

Oh… oh no.

Slowly, she looked up at Frederich, who was frozen, staring at her - and as her gaze met his she realised that it was wide and glazed and hardly focussed on her at all.

“…Frederich?”

His fingers twitched against hers and he blinked a few times, his eyes finally refocussing to meet hers and the muscles of his throat working as though he was struggling to swallow past a dry mouth.

Elizaveta’s heart was threatening to thump out her chest, and she found herself frozen. God, she hadn’t had to do this in decades, she couldn’t remember the best way to deal with someone who’d had unexpected physical contact with her, letalone someone like Frederich. God, she hadn’t even really had to deal with this with Julchen, Julchen had already known by the time she’d met her…

Then she heard a pronounced sigh from behind her, and Ludwig mumbled to himself.

“Well I guess that gets the hard part out of the way…”

Gently he stepped around Elizaveta, placing a similarly bare hand on Frederich’s, who jolted and looked up at Ludwig with wide and slightly frightened eyes.

“Frederich, let go of Elizaveta and go sit down.”

After a quick blink, almost robot-like, Frederich’s hands removed themselves from their grip on the tray and he marched to the desk, taking his seat in the chair next to Elizaveta’s with his back ramrod straight.

As soon as he’d done so, he blinked a few times and sagged in the chair, taking a deep breath like he’d just been drowning - then he looked over to the two figures still standing by the door, trading a look of stunned silence with Elizaveta.

“What… what just happened?”

She took a shaky breath, chewing her bottom lip and looking over at Ludwig, who shrugged.

“What just happened is that you probably realised exactly why I haven’t told you my position in the military before.”

He strode over to the desk and sat down, folding his hands as Frederich’s gaze followed him distractedly. Elizaveta also walked slowly back to her chair, setting the coffee down and trying to ignore Frederich's wide eyed stare as she also sat. Ludwig however, just looked levelly at Frederich and waited to see how he would react.

It took a moment before the man realised they were waiting for him to speak, and then a few more before he could actually vocalise anything more than stuttered syllables.

"I... I'm still confused. You... both of you feel like you're more than one person, you... you remind me of so many people I've known all at once, but... at the same time you're just one person, it doesn't make sense..."

He trailed off, and Elizaveta's heart panged at his confused expression. Gently, she reached out a hand and laid it on his arm, only for him to flinch and look up at her, and she withdrew it, ashamed.

"The reason why our position in the military is so secret isn't because of our rank, Frederich - it's because it's so difficult to explain. We’re the physical embodiment of Nations, how can you walk up to someone and tell them "I'm the Nation of Hungary", that just sounds crazy no matter which way you say it."

Frederich's gaze remained focussed intently on her even as she finished, and when she met his eyes again they were less scared and more full of cautious curiosity.

"You're... you're Hungary..."

She nodded slowly, and he was the first to break the stare by turning to Ludwig quickly.

"And... and you're Germany, aren't you?"

Ludwig just nodded, and slowly Frederich turned back to Elizaveta, locking eyes with her before slowly holding out his hand, his expression betraying that he wasn't sure if this was wise but too curious to hold back.

"Can I… try that again?"

His words were slightly shaky, and she wasn't sure exactly what he wanted or what he thought that would do - but she found she trusted him, for some strange reason. She looked over to Ludwig, who nodded and shrugged, then gently placed her hand in Frederich’s, wincing as she saw him flinch just a tiny bit before closing his eyes and seeming to let the feeling flow over him.

Nervously, she looked over to Ludwig, who was just staring at Frederich intently. This... this was unusual, to say the least. Most people were borderline frightened of them once they knew who they were, and one occasion of direct physical contact was more than enough.

Frederich however seemed to get used to it the longer his hand was in Elizaveta's, and as they watched, a tiny smile even spread over his lips.

They were spellbound as he opened his eyes again - and while they were still glazed and slightly unseeing, there wasn't any horror left in them, only a strange sense of awe.

"This feels... _you_ feel so familiar... I swear there's something about you Elizaveta, I swear there is..."

Then, with a sharp blink, he straightened up, the smile falling from his face, and when he looked down at their still linked hands, he jumped and let go, looking apologetic.

"Oh... sorry. That uh… that helped, thankyou."

Elizaveta found herself unconsciously stretching her arm after him, suddenly missing the comfortable weight of his hand in hers - but she quickly caught herself and drew it back, looking over at Ludwig.

Ludwig just smiled.

"Do I need to give you two a moment?"

Elizaveta smiled weakly, looking over at Frederich, who shook his head vehemently. Ludwig nodded sagely, lifting one hand to Frederich to indicate that he could speak.

"Do you have any questions, Frederich?"

Frederich nodded, specifically not looking at Elizaveta, and fidgeted with his hands in his lap, flicking his fingers into the palm of his other hand.

"So... how does it work, exactly? It sounds like you represent countries, but does that mean you're really old, or are you like chosen ones or something that get picked every generation?"

He let out a little chuckle at himself.

"God, that sounds so silly when I say it out loud. It sounded fine in my head."

Elizaveta smiled at him.

"You aren't the first person to ever tell us that it sounds silly, don't worry."

Ludwig nodded, smiling grimly.

"Your reaction to it has actually been quite controlled. There are some who've immediately decided it was an elaborate trap and tried to kill us."

Frederich smiled crookedly back, and Elizaveta's heart panged at how familiar it looked.

"Who on earth would try to kill you? That’s such a stupid idea."

Ludwig just levelled his gaze and stared for a few seconds, until Frederich looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

"Who do you think it might have been, Frederich?"

Frederich's eyes widened, and he spoke quietly, like a small child saying a word they thought forbidden.

"Hitle - Hi - him? Really? You were alive for that?"

Ludwig just nodded; Frederich looked slightly sick.

"So... so you're really old then..."

Ludwig nodded, Elizaveta shifted and spoke.

"Ludwig isn't too old in terms of nations - he hasn't even hit his bicentenary yet. I'm older than him by almost a millenium."

Frederich turned to her and gaped, looking her up and down.

"You're... you're a _thousand_ years old?"

Elizaveta just smiled. "Of course, that's when [Árpád](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%81rp%C3%A1d) led his conquest, and soon after that I met..."

_…I met you._

She cut herself off abruptly. That possibly wasn't the best thing to be saying.

Frederich, however, barely seemed to notice.

"That's crazy, you look like you're twenty! How does that even work?"

It was Ludwig's turn to cut in.

"We aren't precisely sure, and trust me, none of us are particularly willing to subject ourselves to tests to find out when there's so many more productive things we could be doing with our time."

Frederich shrunk back a bit, seeming chastised. But then he looked over at Elizaveta again, a question dancing just behind his eyes.

"So, why do I feel like..."

But then his eyes widened and he closed his mouth with a click, cutting himself off, apparently also deciding that what he was about to say wasn’t wise.

Elizaveta leaned forward, concern on her face, and Ludwig did the same, leaning over his desk.

"Frederich? Is something the matter?"

Frederich started, looking up and over at Ludwig before stuttering back into speech.

"No, I uh... I just... Was there anything else you needed from me, Ludwig? Uh... sir?"

Ludwig shook his head gently.

"The reason I called you here was to tell you what you figured out yourself. You're free to do whatever you like with the information now; feel free to ask us anything else. Just... try not to let it slip to anyone, yes? It is considered confidential by most government agencies."

Frederich, again, stood up sharply and nodded curtly.

"Of course, I... may I be dismissed? Sir?"

Ludwig sighed.

"Of course."

With another nod Frederich turned to go - but not before looking down at Elizaveta and almost reaching out to touch her shoulder before seeming to think better of it.

Then, with a few quick steps, he was opening the door and stepping out of the room.

The door closed, and Elizaveta slumped, putting her head in her hands and groaning.

"I'm sorry Ludwig, that went so badly..."

Ludwig just shrugged. "We'll see. Frederich tends to work along his own plans more than anyone else’s, he may yet have some more questions."

Elizaveta nibbled her lip in worry.

"I just hope his plan isn't to leave the army and wash his hands of us now, though... it’s a lot to take in."

Ludwig shook his head.

"He won't. He's far too invested to do anything of the sort, you know that. Just watch out for him showing up around the place a lot in the next few days."

Elizaveta nodded, one thing on her mind more than anything else.

What had Frederich been about to ask?

**

Frederich, against all odds, didn't leave the army.

Elizaveta spent all of two days worrying about his reaction to the revelation he'd had - on the third day, she saw him again.

Actually no - saw was not the right word.

He made himself impossible to ignore, was possibly a better description.

She actually hadn't been in the barracks at all, she'd been down the road at a local cafe and getting her morning latte while she was doing some paperwork for Ludwig, because he stressed too much.

Then, once she'd set herself up in a little booth tucked away near the window and laid out her work, a very familiar head of hair bobbed past the window and the bell on the door chimed, welcoming the newcomer in.

Frederich, dressed in his camouflage army scrubs, spotted her within the first few milliseconds of walking in and his first response was a wide and bright grin and an excited little wave, which she returned unsurely.

Then, once he'd been served he sat down opposite her, bright grin still in place – she nodded at him as he leaned forward excitedly.

"Hèllo Frederich, nice to see you again -"

"Elizaveta, how many guys could you bench press at once?"

She spluttered, and anything she was going to say afterwards was swallowed in a "WHAT" that was loud enough to draw the attention of most of the cafe. She looked over at the disgruntled other patrons of the cafe and clamped a hand over her mouth, turning back to Frederich with murder in her eyes.

"Where on earth did that come from, why - why do you need to know that?"

Frederich's grin, which hadn't faded at all with her outburst, just grew a little wider, and he leaned his elbow on the table and leant a little further towards her.

"Well, Ludwig estimated that he could do around three, but then he arm wrestled me and almost lost, so..."

Elizaveta wasn't sure whether to splutter indignantly or laugh – she did an odd mix of both, staring at him incredulously.

“I… oh, of course you did. Why is it such a matter of life and death though?”

He shrugged, nonchalant all of a sudden.

“Nothing, I was just interested. And I kinda want to see whether you could beat me.”

She didn’t even grace that with a response, instead just raising a single eyebrow at him and feeling a rush of satisfaction at the motion. She finally realised why Roderich liked doing it so much.

Frederich’s grin finally dropped.

"What, you don't believe me?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, turning back to her work - though it was all a complete ruse, she'd lost all interest in it as soon as he'd entered and sat down.

"Oh yes, I believe you - I also believe Ludwig was uh... pulling your leg a bit."

Frederich laughed, leaning closer.

"What, you reckon he was lying about being able to take on three guys at once? Me too, he's a giant softy. I think he could maybe take one if he was well trained."

It was Elizaveta's turn to laugh - Frederich however, just looked at her like she'd given him a gift by doing so.

She tried not to focus on that.

"Oh absolutely Ludwig's a softy. But I don't think you've got it quite right, Frederich."

Indignantly, he sat up straighter and puffed out his chest, reminding her a bit of an offended canary with his pale white-blonde hair.

The comparison was particularly apt, she thought to herself.

"What, you think you could do better than Ludwig? You think you could take me, Liz?"

She giggled softly, enjoying the game - and not missing the fact that she'd gone from "Elizaveta" to "Liz".

"I think I could take you and wipe the floor with you, you big goof."

He huffed, throwing one of his arms onto the table and holding it up as an invitation to an arm wrestle.

"Come on then, try me! You're a thousand years old, I have the benefit of youth."

She just laughed, tilting her head questioningly as he smiled.

"Do you really think this is a good idea, Frederich? Really?"

He nodded vehemently.

"Absolutely I do."

She sighed dramatically, making a show of putting her pen down and clearing her papers and the coffee cups into a pile in the corner so they were out of the way. Then, she raised her arm and took a hold of his hand, not missing the minute shiver that ran through him at the contact.

"Well, prepare to be destroyed."

He laughed, bracing his other hand on the table and steeling his gaze.

"Alright then, one, two three... go!"

Immediately he started pushing against her, the muscles in his arm straining, and after a few seconds she watched as his face started tinting red with effort.

She just rested her head on her other hand, smiling cheekily and raising her eyebrows as though she was impressed.

"Hey, maybe Ludwig wasn't faking as much as I thought he was after all, I think I moved a millimetre."

Frederich's eyes just widened as she didn't even move, didn't even twitch, didn't even _pretend_ to give slightly, and she made sure he was watching as she calmly reached over to her coffee cup with her free hand and took a nonchalant sip.

She placed it back when she felt his pushes start to grow weaker.

"You done?"

Frederich's face was most definitely red now, and he'd leant so far to the left trying to gain some leverage that he was about to fall out of his seat. He shook his head though, determination in every line of his body.

Typical.

She sighed.

"Nah, I think you're done."

Then, with barely any effort, she slammed his hand onto the table, careful not to do it so hard that the table flipped. She'd made that mistake before and it hadn't been pretty.

He let out a yelp as he flew across the bench from left to right, wincing as he followed his arm to avoid it getting twisted out of its socket.

Gently, she released his hand, chuckling at him.

He sat up, crossing his arms indignantly and pouting – though she doubted he’d admit that.

“Hey, I was just warming up with my non-dominant hand – I was using my right hand, I bet I could take you easy with my left!”

Elizaveta just laughed.

"Well, you’re welcome to try. Although I hate to say it Frederich, but... _I_ can barely beat Ludwig on his good day. I think he might have been playing a game with you."

Frederich went from defeated to offended in a heartbeat.

“He _what?_ "

The arm wrestle hadn't really drawn any attention from the other people in the cafe, but Frederich's indignant cry did. In unison they all turned to glare, and within seconds the server had come over.

"I'm sorry, but if you guys are going to be so loud can you please continue outside? This is a quiet area..."

Elizaveta sighed, gathering her things.

"Sure, sorry to disturb you all."

Frederich, looking ashamed of himself, just nodded, gathering both of their paper coffee cups and trailing after Elizaveta outside.

He handed her latte back to her wordlessly as they started walking back towards the barracks.

"I'm going to have _words_ with Ludwig when we get back, how dare he play me like that..."

"Of course you are."

"I will! Who does he think he is, the prime minister?"

"Well, technically he does rank higher than the prime minister, if you wanted to split hairs."

"Yeah, but... still! It's the principal!"

"Oh absolutely. You should completely make him feel ashamed of himself for letting you win."

"I should! It's completely unfair!"

She giggled softly, and when Frederich paused in his rant to take a sip of his cappuccino – with four sugars, she’d counted – she took a quick breath, bit her lip, and reached out her hand to catch his as they were walking.

Frederich almost spat his coffee all over himself, and he turned to her with wide eyes - then he looked down at their hands and up at her shy smile and slowly he smiled back, swinging their hands between them.

The rest of the walk to the barracks was filled with quite comfortable conversation for two people who'd only met twice - and once they arrived and Elizaveta had to release Frederich's hand she found that the walk was much too short and she missed the warmth of his hand immediately.

But the one thing that made her feel better was that Frederich seemed just as reluctant as she was to part ways, and he gave her a shy little wave again as he marched off down the corridor.

Elizaveta waved back until he was out of sight, feeling for the first time in a very long time that maybe Roderich was right. Maybe, just maybe... all of this would turn out ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just trying to power through, the next update might take a little longer but we're so close now... I'm forcing myself to finish this by the end of the month, I swear there won't be another six months before it's done.  
> But thankyou for still reading this, I can't wait for it to be completed either!


	7. Frederich: Part Three

It seemed like a very clear line had been crossed, after that.

After Frederich figured out that at she was in at the barracks regularly he got to know her comings and goings, and would greet her when she arrived every few days for meetings with Ludwig. He’d always light up when he saw her, grinning brightly and walking her to where she needed to go, even if she insisted that she didn’t need help – he protested that he was simply being a gentleman, and she said she was surprised he knew the meaning of that word.

Every day touching her seemed to get easier and easier for him, and he seemed to relish the contact, no longer flinching when they brushed hands. Often, if she casually slipped her hand into his, then he would hold it for longer and longer, squeezing it gently. He had even initiated a few overzealous hugs on occasion, wrapping his arms tightly around her and making her blush.

They hadn’t said anything to each other about the touches, or what they meant, but both seemed to accept that the other was special to them in one way or another.

Ludwig didn't mention anything to Elizaveta, but she could tell that he was also much more relaxed having them building a relationship than her staying wary and distant.

And honestly, the more time she spent with Frederich the more comfortable she got with him and the more familiar he seemed.

Both her and Ludwig found themselves falling into old habits around him – Elizaveta would look up expecting a slightly different face as he breezed into the room, and Ludwig would get confused if he spoke about his little sister, because "I thought Lilli was our cousin, not our...oh."

The first time he'd talked about his Mutti had been confusing as well.

But Frederich slipped into both of their lives like he'd been designed to go there, and they both supposed that in a way, he was.

All was well, and Elizaveta found herself almost forgetting that they were on the brink of the world collapsing into war.

Until one day in late July.

Russian presence in Ukraine had long since become the norm, and there was little anyone could do about it – but Russian presence on the Hungarian border was something else again.

A small band of Russian soldiers – possibly defective, no-one had been able to contact Russia to find out – had arrived in a small town on the Hungarian border and quickly taken control with incredibly high powered weaponry, then sent a threatening message to the neighbouring towns that they were next as soon as their backup arrived from Russia. Because it was a small town populated by civilians only and mustering a militia would take time, as allies both Elizaveta and Ludwig were disinclined to send in the drones to do their work.

So instead, they were left with the option of sending a small but highly powered infantry into the area to neutralise the threat and liberate the town. If it was just a small band of misguided revolutionaries then it was possibly best they subdue what threat there was and send them packing with as little cost to civilians as they could.

If it was more… no-one really wanted to consider the idea that it was anything more sinister.

Neither of them would have decided it, but after the powers that be selected which soldiers they'd send out with both the Nations, Frederich ended up among Ludwig's group as a junior officer after acing his training at the top of his class and itching for deployment for the past several months.

Ludwig and Elizaveta were both apprehensive about his presence there, but Frederich couldn't have been more excited to finally be seeing action.

All through the train ride out to the border he was chatting happily away, and it was only once they arrived and were heading out to the chopper to take them to the border itself that Elizaveta noticed him become quiet and subdued.

She stepped over as they walked across the tarmac towards the chopper, leaning in close to his ear and speaking past his headgear.

"What has you so worried suddenly? Not getting cold feet, are you?"

He shook his head vehemently, though he still looked worried.

"No, I just... how long have you been in the military?"

Elizaveta shrugged.

"I started life with the nomads, we were always riding and fighting. So I've been in it since it started, I suppose."

She smiled encouragingly at him.

"I’ve been on the front lines in most of the wars I’ve taken part in. The only times I didn't were when I was living with Austria and he forbid me from doing as much actual fighting as he could because he thought it was unladylike."

Frederich frowned.

"So... have you ever, you know... gotten injured?"

He subconsciously mimed being run through with a sabre, and she smiled cheekily, patting him on the shoulder.

“Aw, are you worried about me? That’s so sweet.”

He just looked at her, slightly offended.

“Of course I’m worried! You’re important, what happens if you get injured or…”

He trailed off, and Elizaveta gave a little chuckle.

"Well, I’ve been injured plenty of times before and it hasn’t stopped me. Once I got shot in the chest twelve times – that was Stalingrad, it was pretty vicious."

His eyes went wide like a small child hearing a fairytale.

"And... and you didn't die?"

She laughed. "Of course not, I'm Hungary! We might look human, but we're nowhere near as fragile as you are. We'd be in trouble if we were."

He just continued to stare, even though they'd reached the chopper and were starting to board it.

"So... so..."

She smiled, ushering him towards the chopper next.

"I'll be fine, Frederich. If they open fire you're free to use me as a human shield if need be. It'll only be a few months til I'm back on my feet, no matter how many bullets they empty into me."

He just looked a little bit sick, and with an inwards sigh she could tell that no matter how many shots they made at her there was no way he was using her as a shield, despite it being the most logical option.

She placed a hand on his arm as he started to step inside, pulling him a little closer and staring him in the eye.

"In all seriousness, it's you I'm worried about. Be careful, alright?"

He just nodded mutely, stepping inside and sitting himself amongst his peers. She climbed in after him, seating herself next to Ludwig as they took off.

The chopper ride out to the border was uneventful – several of the newly trained troops looked nervous and a little shaky, but Frederich stared at the floor the whole time, stony faced and serious. It was hard to tell what was going on in his mind.

Elizaveta just hoped it was something sensible.

**

The battle was bloody and vicious.

It only lasted for about two hours, but it was a thoroughly difficult two hours that had Elizaveta intensely relieved when it was over.

She had tailed Ludwig as he attempted a tentative peace negotiation with the leader of the rebels and was quickly – and literally – shot down, and soon after she very quickly lost sight of Frederich when he dove into action with his battalion.

The Russian rebels were using some sort of specially engineered bullets that shot through body armour like it wasn’t there, and their initial shot at Ludwig had caught him dangerously close to the sprawling scar on his chest left over the from the end of World War II, putting him almost out of action for the rest of the battle.

Elizaveta had very literally had someone’s neck for that, despite orders to take them alive. Note enough damage to actually kill – but enough that walking would be severely difficult for a very long time.

While the humans had avoided being hit – not an accident, both Ludwig and Elizaveta were doing everything they could – both the Nations had been hit several times, and after an hour of bloody fighting, both of them were getting tired and worn down. Immortality could only help so much.

At the end of that hour though, they’d cornered the rebels and managed to run them out of bullets with decoys and taunts. They’d banked on them having no backup plan, and they were right, because there was a nod and an agreement between them.

Then, finally… a surrender.

A cheer went up from the Hungarian and German forces, and Elizaveta felt a relieved smile find its way onto her face. She put on the safety on her rifle, sitting up on the roof of a house where she was in her position as a sniper and settling in to watch Ludwig step forward and speak to the leader.

"Finally!"

She jumped when Frederich seemed to suddenly appear on the rooftop and clap a hand on her shoulder, laying himself belly-down on the tiles next to her and grinning wide.

"We did it Liz, and without a single casualty for us! How's that for good, huh?"

She turned to him, taking in his worn appearance and the splatters of dirt and blood on his uniform.

She was sure she looked the same, but it was more concerning on him, and she made him know with just one stern look.

Following her gaze, he looked down at himself and then back up, shrugging off her silent concern.

“It’s not my blood, don’t worry. I got the bastard that shot you earlier.”

His face set in a grim expression, and Elizaveta looked down at her leg and the bullet wound in one of her calves, still bleeding sluggishly. It had stung more than normal bullets when she’d gotten it, but the bullet had gone in and then straight out again, so she was gritting her teeth and ignoring the pain. He started to move closer, his eyes on the wound, but she shook her head.

“I’ll look at it myself later, it’s fine. Besides, you’re terrible at giving medical attention.”

He frowned and made a petulant whine.

“Says who?”

She chuckled, lost in memory for a brief moment.

“Says me. Now pay attention.”

He huffed, but followed her gaze as she looked down towards Ludwig on the ground, negotiating once again with the man who seemed to be the leader of the rebel group. It looked civil enough this time around, with no weapons in sight, which was promising.

Frederich tapped Elizaveta on the arm, and she turned to him as he made to say something – but then, his gaze unfocussed and he looked at something behind her for a brief millisecond, his eyes widening in shock.

And then everything unravelled.

Frederich moved so quickly Elizaveta jumped, throwing himself across her with an urgent cry of her name.

“Liz!”

His body pressed on top of hers so that their fronts pressed together, and as she twisted her head around, trying to see the threat, there was a tiny moment where their eyes met, grim resolution in his and confusion in hers.

She didn’t even hear the gunshot, she didn't even see the one sniper they’d missed who'd climbed onto the edge of the roof, didn't even hear the second gunshot as one of the others in their battalion shot him off the roof from the laneway below.

She didn’t even feel the sting from the bullet exiting his chest and burying itself in her side.

All she knew was that suddenly Frederich gave a violent jolt, and then there was blood on her hands where she put them to his chest to hold him up.

Once again her mind was blank and her innards were turning to stone as she watched the light begin to fade from his eyes and felt his body sag against her hands, everything throwing itself into turmoil in one fell swoop.

She let out a wordless cry of anguish, lying him down next to her when his legs, suddenly boneless, gave out, wincing at the pain as she suddenly realised there was a bullet in her side. But that didn’t matter – she just put her hands uselessly on his chest, as though she could somehow heal the wound that now flowed freely between her fingers.  

"You idiot, you idiot, you stupid idiot..."

One of his hands weakly grasped hers, slick with blood.

“No, you’re… you’re more important…”

She felt a sob well up in her own chest and refused to let herself acknowledge it, so instead she just gripped his hand tight, shaking her head in denial and muttering to herself.

“No, I spent so long looking for you, you idiot, I can’t lose you now… I told you I’d be fine, why couldn’t you just listen?!”

She heard the noise of someone climbing up onto the low edge of the roof, and as she turned towards them she spied a soldier of hers, thank goodness.

“Get Ludwig,” she said to him quickly, and after taking in the scene he nodded grimly and climbed back down.

Elizaveta looked back to Frederich, whose grip was slackening and whose eyes were glazing as blood flowed freely from his chest.

His lungs had been pierced, judging by the gurgling sound of his breathing, and he would very quickly either bleed out or drown if they didn’t do something – except the paramedics were at least five minutes away, and he’d be dead long before then.

Even though it was something Elizaveta had hoped they’d never have to use, there was only really one option left for them.

She needed Ludwig.

She noticed that Frederich’s mouth was moving slowly, and she leant closer, trying to hear the words.

“Liz, don’t… don’t let me do this again. It hurts…”

Elizaveta felt her heart seem to stop, and with her mind racing at a mile a minute, she watched as he somehow managed to fix his eyes on hers, his breathing laboured.

“It… it takes so long to… to find you again, and I miss you all the time when I’m gone.”

Elizaveta drew a sharp breath, wondering if she was talking to exactly who she thought she was talking to, and whispered back.

“You won’t have to do this again, don’t worry. I’m keeping you here this time, don’t you dare leave me again.”

He smiled, just the faintest twitch of his lips, his eyes slightly glazed and his mouth seeming to move without his brain’s permission.

“You know I’d come back again, but I feel like it’s getting old…”

Elizaveta’s heart panged, and then she heard Ludwig’s voice and heard him climb onto the low edge of the roof behind her.

Quickly, she turned to him as he slid quickly over to her, eyes wide with panic, and she grabbed his arm, laying it on Frederich’s chest.

She barely noticed her own hands were shaking.

“Ludwig please, you have to save him... I know the risk, but neither of us can do this again. He’s one of yours, _you_ need to keep him alive. Please…”

Ludwig stuttered for a moment, and Elizaveta spoke again, squeezing his hand.

“He won’t respond to me, he’s not Hungarian, you have to do it…”

Ludwig shook his head, placing a hand lightly on Frederich’s irregularly rising chest.

"Elizaveta, I… haven’t you noticed? He hasn't been mine for a long time.”

Elizaveta frowned, meeting Ludwig’s wide eyes with panic as she registered Frederich’s heartbeat under her fingers growing weaker by the second.

Ludwig spoke again.

“He's slipping but I can't catch him, it has to be you. He’s yours now.”

“Liz, please…” Frederich whispered, grasping for Elizaveta’s hand as his red-brown eyes began to slide closed.

She just stared at Ludwig.

"Ludwig, I... that's impossible, people don't change Nationalities like that, you have to do this!"

Ludwig didn't say anything – instead, he just grabbed her hands and placed one on Frederich's chest and the other in his grasping hand.

"Bring him home, Elizaveta. Please."

Elizaveta gasped, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she felt his heartbeat faltering and fading and willing it to stay steady with all her heart; feeling and watching him die and wondering what all of her pain had been for if he was just going to leave her again, after they'd just snatched victory from the worst odds.

If only his mortal, human, painfully weak heart could hold out she would be fine, and she willed and prayed for it to with everything she had, knowing it wasn’t enough and hopingit would help anyway.

His hand in hers squeezed, just slightly, and she looked down, feeling his heartbeat growing fainter, knowing she was running out of time and feeling absolutely helpless.

She looked down at her hand on his chest, cursing everything, and – wait.

Her hands weren’t anywhere near a pulse point, and yet she could feel his fading heartbeat as clear as day. She felt it thrumming alongside hers, a muted hum in her chest.

Like she did with her people.

"...Frederich?"

A low moan trickled from his throat, his eyes struggling to focus on her. But as she looked, seeing him trying to shift closer to her, she realised that Ludwig was right.

She could feel him; feel his heart and his fear in a way that she had only ever been able to feel her people. As she focussed, she could feel where he was tied to her, like a ship moored to a pier and only obviously attached when it tried to drift away.

He wasn't one of Ludwig’s, not anymore. He hadn't really been for a long time.

He wasn't Hungarian either; but somehow, he was unmistakeably hers.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she reached out a gentle hand, cupping his face – doing the only thing she could possibly do, the only thing that would possibly save him now, short of a miracle.

Something that she could only do to someone who was undeniably one of hers.

"I'm so sorry Frederich..." She whispered, knowing exactly what this would do to him and yet knowing that it was the only way she could keep him alive, keep everything from repeating itself again.

Mentally, she searched for the tie he had to her, the tie she’d only just realised was there – and then she gave it a sharp tug, pulling him from his own mortality and holding him safe with her.

He gasped, lifting off the ground a little like he'd just been run through, lungs gurgling and breathe short. He wheezed, eyes closed tight and a grimace on his face – and then, slowly, he relaxed, his chest started to rise and fall gently, the blood from the bullet wound on his chest beginning to slow and then stopping completely.

Slowly, instead of racing and tripping and stumbling, Frederich's heartbeat evened out and began to beat evenly against all odds – and feeling her own racing pulse in her ears, she realised that his heartbeat was starting to beat exactly in time with hers.

"Oh god," she gasped, hanging her head and letting her tears of relief fall as she felt the thread that was his life thicken and strengthen under her hand on his chest.

Ludwig put a hand on her arm, and she looked up to see that he was crying too.

"Well done, Elizaveta."

As their troops in the street subdued what was left of the rebel force and encouraged the civilians to come out of hiding, Elizaveta just clutched Frederich's hand tightly, unwilling or unable to let go. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the slow healing of the bullet wound on his chest.

And yet... he should have woken up by now. He shouldn't still be sleeping.

"Ludwig... something's wrong..."

Ludwig, watching intently as his second in command handled the diplomacy down below, turned back to her and looked concerned.

"How so?"

She shook her head.

"He's still sleeping."

Ludwig shuffled over, frowning down at Frederich.

"He is stable, right?"

She nodded vehemently, biting her lip. Ludwig just frowned a bit deeper.

"I'll call the paramedics. Stay here."

He slid to the edge of the roof, putting a hand to his headset and muttering urgently into it.

But Elizaveta just stayed where she was, getting lost in the rhythm of Frederich's heart and praying to god he'd be alright.

When the paramedics came for him and quickly assessed his condition, it only took a look for them to let her ride alongside him in the chopper that would take him home, his hand tucked safely in hers the whole way to Berlin Hospital.

He was hers, now; she would hold him close and keep him safe and she was never, ever letting him go again.

She had to make sure he would wake up.

**

_Voices._

_He heard voices._

_Voices muttering prayers, a voice that he dully registered as his own, though it sounded nothing like his voice… voices murmuring Latin and voices raised in battle cries, voices at mass and voices at war…_

_A man, a woman, arguing – he recognised them, though he couldn’t place them. He felt anger at the man, though he couldn’t say why._

_The voice of a young boy, calling his name; calling him brother._

_His vision was grey and empty, as though his eyes were closed but he was still aware of the outside world – slowly, the grey took on forms, and he saw shadows dancing at the edge of his vision._

_A boy, in a green tunic and even brighter green eyes, sitting on a riverbank, laughing at him._

_“You’ll never catch a fish, Gilbert, you’re too slow!”_

_It was not his name, but it once had been, perhaps._

_He laughed in reply, watching how the boy’s mid length hair fell around his face and thinking that he was beautiful._

_But then the grey swirled, and the boy was replaced with a young woman, figure just developing, looking resigned as she looked in a full length mirror and pulled the sleeves of her dress up her arms._

_“Gilbert, help me fasten it.”_

_He sighed, stepping behind her and moving his hands to her back, pulling the dress closed, fingers brushing the soft skin of her back and noticing her shiver. Neither of them said anything when he pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the nape of her neck._

_It struck him that perhaps she wasn’t his to leave kisses upon._

_“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he whispered into her skin. “You could fight it. You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to.”_

_She bit her lip and shook her head._

_“You know I do.”_

_He looked over her shoulder at her face in the mirror, at the tears brimming in her eyes, and then her face blurred and he felt as though he was falling through a grey, featureless fog._

_Through the fog loomed faces, features that he knew he ought to recognise, but whose names stuttered and died on his tongue._

_A man with long blonde hair, held back in braids, his gaze stern but proud; fatherly, almost._

_A man with dark hair and glasses, violet gaze tired and older than it appeared, one unruly curl springing from his forehead as he stared at him exasperatedly._

_An energetic young man who aged from a boy to a handsome teenager and then to a distinguished older man, that same soft smile directed at him the whole time, as though the man was unspeakably proud of him._

_“Fritz”, his mind whispered, and then the face was gone and the grey returned._

_Finally, the fog settled onto the features of a young boy, blonde hair almost golden in the sun and blue eyes shining bright. The boy smiled up at him, his mouth moving in a question – what it was he couldn’t tell._

_One of his own hands came out to ruffle the boy’s hair, then his other hand lifted a helmet from his own head and placed it on the boy’s, only for it to be miles too big and slip down over his eyes._

_He laughed at the boy trying to lift it up to see, and then the fog swirled again, leaving him in darkness._

_It was cold, here._

_But there, on the edge of his awareness, there was a soft voice calling his name, asking him to wake up. There was a gentle hand grasping his._

_Out of the darkness there slowly came light, then the vague shape of a face with hair, then features – tresses upon tresses of light brown hair that looked soft to the touch, gleaming green eyes and a cheeky smile._

_“Liz,” came the firm affirmation, and somewhere, he could feel himself smiling._

_She was all that mattered, she was all that had ever mattered._

_And she was right here, her hand in his, her beautiful smile directed at him._

_So perhaps the cold wasn’t so bad after all._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few notes about this chapter - the idea of Nations keeping humans alive is actually one I took from canon, about how the Nation's pets stay alive for centuries, but a human would lose their mind from the warped time-line the Nations live in. So therefore putting Frederich of all people under that kind of stress isn't the thing that Elizaveta wants to do, obviously.  
> Also I'm not sure if Elizaveta would have had the opportunity to be shot twelve times in the chest at Stalingrad, but I think it was one of the most likely options from a brief bit of research.
> 
> But yes! Thankyou for reading, only one (mostly written) chapter to go now!


	8. Frederich: Part Four

When they landed, they landed in one of the strangest hospitals Elizaveta had ever been in.

While they’d let her sit with Frederich the entire trip there, as soon as they arrived and Frederich’s injuries were assessed – while he was no longer bleeding his lung still gurgled, telling that maybe something was still very wrong – they’d insisted that she leave.

It quickly became clear that the staff had been briefed on Nations and their effects, and while Frederich was undergoing surgery they had outright banned her from the hospital after her presence had caused him to heal faster than they could operate. They figured out that he’d had a broken rib and a punctured lung that had healed wrong, and after a few attempts of trying to operate around bone and tissue that was healing supernaturally fast, they’d given up and very firmly requested that she leave before they tried again.

They hadn't let her back in to see him, that day. Nor the next.

In fact, almost a week later she was still waiting, having set up camp at Ludwig's house after he graciously offered to keep her rather than make her catch the train back and forth every day.

If Frederich were still one of Ludwig's they would have had an idea of what was going on, but Frederich wasn't truly German anymore – nor was he truly Hungarian – so instead they were both just vaguely aware that he was fading in and out of consciousness, just barely, and that when he was awake he was confused and slightly frightened.

Elizaveta's heart ached to feel it, but if the hospital wouldn't let her see him – as they hadn't, all this week – then there was nothing she could do.

Roderich dropped past sometime during the week just to check in, saying that he'd heard what had happened – though god knows where he’d heard it. He just listened intently as Elizaveta told him everything, and when she was done, he nodded wisely.

"You should try neutrality sometime, it's terribly relaxing and you can do away with all of this "death" business."

She just sighed.

"It's not that easy, Roderich."

He nodded, sighing in return and patting her consolingly on the shoulder.

"Unfortunately, no."

Feliks was around a few days later, asking how she was doing and bringing a large vase of bright pink daisies with them.

When she’d asked them why, they’d just winked and smiled, giving her a hug.

"It breaks my heart to see you so down, and I know you always liked these."

They left soon after too, and she didn’t have the heart to tell them that although it was a lovely gesture, they were the wrong person to be giving them to her.

Then, it was Friday afternoon, and finally, instead of having to ask, she actually got a call from the hospital.

_"We’ve received the ok that your presence won’t disrupt the healing process, everything’s finally been set in place and is healing well. Though he still tires easily he’s been conscious for longer and longer periods, and he’s handled visits from family fairly well despite having gaps in his memory, so we would recommend a visit as soon as possible. Especially considering how much he asks for you and Mr Beilschmidt when he **is** awake.”_

She had been down at the hospital less than an hour later, Ludwig very firmly in tow.

They’d both found their way to Frederich’s room to find him quite deeply asleep, and though he had long since come out of his comatose state, they were advised that he might not wake up while they were there and they should just let him sleep.

They’d both replied that they were happy to wait for him and had settled in for a long stay.

Ludwig had gone to find a doctor and ask about his precise condition while Elizaveta had stepped inside, watching Frederich shift just slightly, a frown finding its way onto his sleeping face before sliding off again. Delicately, she stepped over to the bed to seat herself beside him, unable to tear her eyes away from his face while she listened to the rumble of Ludwig’s voice in the corridor.

She hadn't noticed just how much a part of her life Frederich had become until he'd been ripped out from under her like this – how much she liked seeing him several times a week, and how much she enjoyed just talking to him or even just having him sit nearby while they both did paperwork.

He gave a strange sort of familiar comfort that she had missed for years, now.

She didn’t know what the few sentences they’d exchanged after he’d been shot meant, or if they meant anything at all – she didn’t know if Frederich had suddenly remembered something or had just gone slightly delirious in the face of “almost-death”, as she’d called it. All she knew was that this man, with a face that was slightly too familiar for comfort, was lying on a bed with a heart monitor beating steadily beside him, and she hadn’t seen those red-brown eyes awake for over a week.

Apparently, there was nothing to worry about – the heart monitor was just a formality, the problem was that he was healing too fast rather than not enough. Her influence was to thank for that.

But he hadn’t stirred as though to wake since she’d stepped in the room, and the heart monitor continued to beat at a steady forty-five beats per minute, never changing or fluctuating.

She wondered idly if he’d wake up soon; what she’d say when he did.

Shivering, she glanced around the bare room again, her gaze coming to rest on the hand that was lying on the blankets. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out and laid hers on it.

It was cold to the touch, but there was no reaction to the bare skinned contact – not a twitch, or a stir, or a flinch even.

Slowly, she felt a small, nostalgic smile edge onto her face, and she finally broke the silence with a gentle murmur.

“I don’t know how much you remember Frederich, but… your hands were always cold, it’s funny. You used to like sticking them down the neck of my shirt and making me yelp. And then I’d always wait until winter so I could return the favour with snow. I wish I could see you in the snow to know if you still do that.”

Silence – Frederich’s eyes stayed firmly shut, but Elizaveta just smiled a little wider to herself, lost in memory for a moment.

“You never really minded being cold, not until… well, you know what. Russia would make anyone hate the cold. But you never really let it get you down. Whenever I saw you you’d always try your best to make me laugh despite the fact that both of us were suffering.”

She smiled, squeezing the hand slightly and watching Frederich’s face for any sign of movement.

“You always did like making me laugh. It was one of the things I loved about you, your ability to make everything into a colossal joke if we were taking ourselves too seriously. You still do.”

Nothing – Frederich’s face remained in the calm neutrality of sleep, and her smile faded slowly. She let go of the hand, sliding hers off of the bed and into her lap with a sigh.

“I miss you, Gilbert… and I know you’re in there somewhere, you have to be. I see you in all the things Frederich does and says, and… and all the ways he looks at me. I’m just so scared that you won’t be ok.”

She fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, carefully choosing the words that would echo around the mostly empty room.

“Before I was scared that you’d never remember, but now… now I’m scared that all of us have lost you completely.”

She looked up at Frederich's pale face, barely coloured against the white pillow he was laying on.

"They… they say you’re confused. That you don’t remember people. Apparently your family came in and you asked for their names; your sister was distraught, your mother burst into tears.”

She sighed sadly.

“I’m sorry. I feel like that’s my fault, like keeping you alive hurt your mind just enough to scramble everything and you’re struggling to put everything back together. I just… I just want you to be ok, I didn’t want that.”

She looked down and away from him, reaching out and patting the back of his cold hand gently, resting her hand back on it while she bit her lip in thought.

Only a few humans had ever been kept alive for unnatural lifespans by Nations, and it was not something done lightly because of the long lasting psychological effects of being made immortal for a time. By doing it to Frederich, even though she'd long since left him to the care of medicine as much as she could, she had no idea what kind of damage she'd actually unleashed. She had no idea if he would ever wake up coherent again, and if he did, what kind of memories he would actually have of his life. Perhaps he’d remember something of Gilbert – but perhaps he’d remember nothing of anything and be a blank slate of a person, transplanted into a life he couldn’t remember.

Maybe it would have been more merciful to let him die.

She looked away from Frederich, to the little sliver of sky let in by the small window, her mind far away in thoughts of life and Gilbert and what she’d done and whether she could make it right.

She looked back down, opening her mouth to say something else – when she heard a voice she hadn't heard for weeks, clawing its way out of a throat hoarse with disuse.

"Liz..."

She jumped, looking back down at Frederich and noticing that his eyelids were fluttering just slightly.

As she watched, she felt the cold hand underneath hers give a little twitch.

 “Frederich? Are you there?”

Frederich’s brow creased just slightly, a confused frown.

She watched intently as his mouth moved just slightly in another few quiet words.

“S’not my name… why does everyone keep calling me that…”

Elizaveta’s heart almost stopped, and she swallowed nervously, squashing down the immediate urge she’d had to cry “Gilbert” and remembering back to the doctor’s words about amnesia and Frederich’s memory of names.

“You mean Frederich? Yes, that’s your name, it – ”

But Frederich just shook his head, frowning deeply and Elizaveta faltered momentarily.

“No, no… t’wasn’t my name _before_. What was my name before?”

Elizaveta took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest – and when she spoke, it was so quiet that she almost exhaled the word.

“Gilbert…”

Slowly, Frederich’s brow smoothed, and his face relaxed.

“Yeah… that’s it…”

He took a breath slowly, and Elizaveta felt the rest of the world drop away as he spoke again, his words of the utmost importance even as his eyes stayed closed.

“We… we were going… fishing. We were fishing.”

She leant a little closer, frowning deeply – fishing?

Maybe he was just speaking nonsense after all…

The tiniest smile tugged at the corners of Frederich’s lips and he seemed lost in his own thoughts for a moment. Then he spoke again.

“You… you told me I was too slow. That I wouldn’t… catch anything.”

Elizaveta’s frown deepened, and something surfaced from the ocean of her memory, an image so old that it was barely more than an echo of an emotion.

The first time she’d met Gilbert.

They’d met in the woods in the wilds of Hungary, and once they’d established that they weren’t foes they’d rolled up their breeches and paddled into the brook together, trying to catch fish with their bare hands.

Her eyes widened, and she watched, spellbound, as Frederich’s head moved slightly, turning on the pillow so he was facing a little more towards her despite his closed eyes.

“Did I though? Did I catch anything? I can’t remember…”

She squeezed his hand gently, leaning closer to him and murmuring softly as though afraid to break the spell.

“No, you didn’t, you big silly. I caught three fish all by myself and after you got over your wounded pride we shared them for dinner that night.”

She held her breath, watching Frederich’s face intently, and the small smile at the corners of his mouth widened a little.

“That’s right. I thought… you were so pretty, in the firelight.”

Elizaveta’s heart thumped loud in her ears, and she just mutely squeezed Frederich’s hand, feeling a knot form in her throat as the impossible thing she’d been wishing and hoping and praying to happen for decades finally unfolded in front of her and she felt herself become breathless with anticipation.

Frederich swallowed slowly, his throat clearly dry and hoarse, but slowly, as Elizaveta watched, his eyelids stirred and finally, his red brown eyes slid open and settled on her.

There was a moment where they both just stared mutely at each other – then, slowly, Frederich smiled.

“Liz… it’s me. I made it… I came back.”

Elizaveta let out a sob, smiling widely even as she did so.

“Gilbert…”

He just nodded, smiling, and she felt her tears start to fall. Frederich’s hand squeezed hers as he shifted a little to move closer to her, and his other hand reached out slowly to cup her face. His smile faltered just slightly as he spoke.

“I’m sorry I took so long... turns out it's a bit harder to find you than I thought. A bit harder to find _me._ You'll take me back though, right?"

Elizaveta's heart near stopped in her chest, her breath left her lungs, and she felt the knot of emotion in her throat make it impossible to speak. She laid her hand on the one that gently caressed her cheek, mutely nodding, and as he smiled slowly up at her, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering quietly against his skin.

“Of course I do, I didn’t wait this long for nothing.”

She felt his head move gently, pressing up against her touch, and she let out a sob, lowering her head to press their cheeks together and clutching his hand for all she was worth. He moved slightly, sitting up so the other hand could move to start carding through her hair.

She sighed shakily, feeling the warmest and safest she had for months.

“I… I missed you so much…”

Frederich’s – Gilbert’s – fingers scratched gently at her scalp, and she felt him chuckle.

"Hey, don't cry Liz, I came back! Promise you'll smile for me, huh? Just like you used to..."

She nodded into the blankets, and she heard him laugh a little before breaking off into a coughing fit.

She sat up quickly, reaching out to the bedside table and grabbing the glass of water that sat there, holding it to his lips and helping him drink as he sat up a little straighter. When he was done, she put the glass down and turned back to him, watching him for a moment before reaching out a hand tentatively and gently touching his cheek as he smiled wistfully up at her.

She let out a watery laugh.

“You know, it’s been so long without you and now I don’t even know what to say.”

He just shook his head slowly.

“You don’t have to say anything, Liz, you being here is enough…”

He laughed just a little and held up one arm in an invitation, which she gladly accepted, gently tucking herself against his side as much as she could without disturbing anything important.

His arm curled around her back as much as it could, and she felt his hand start carding gently through her hair again. His fingers quickly found the pink daisy tucked behind her ear – several centuries old at this point, and yet still perfectly fresh – and his fingertips traced the petals and then the shell of her ear gently as he softly chuckled.

“You’re still wearing it, huh? I thought you’d have gotten rid of it long before now.”

She sat up and glared at him indignantly – “Do you really think I would” – but she was interrupted by the door behind her opening.

Frederich’s gaze slid behind her and he smiled warmly.

“Ludwig, you made it!”

Elizaveta turned, making eye contact with a somewhat surprised looking Ludwig, who closed the door behind him gently and moved over to the bed as Frederich held out a hand in invitation.

Ludwig just stared, looking from Elizaveta to Frederich, even as Elizaveta bashfully slid off the bed and back into her chair.

Then he shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be exerting this much energy so soon Frederich, just lay down for a while.”

He moved towards the bed, making to smooth the pillows and make Frederich lie down, but Frederich just put a hand on his chest and shook his head.

“Ludwig, that’s not my name, you don’t have to call me that.”

Ludwig frowned, stopping at the slight pressure from Frederich’s hand.

“Call you what…?”

Frederich grinned, and Elizaveta just sighed happily, interlocking her fingers with his.

“Frederich.”

Ludwig froze, staring down at the man in the hospital bed, who just grinned cheekily.

“Gilbert is just fine – just tell me you kept all my stuff, I wanna see all my uniforms again.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Ludwig just stared, and then, as Elizaveta watched, slowly the realisation seemed to sink in and he gave a sniff as his eyes welled up with tears. His deep voice came out sounding so young and lost it almost didn’t seem to come from him.

“Gilbert? Is that you?”

Frederich just laughed gesturing to him.

“Come on, bring it in – crying isn’t manly you know, don’t let anyone see.”

Ludwig sat on the other side of the bed, letting Frederich excitedly ruffle his hair as soon as he was close enough to reach and giving him a tight bear hug – as tight as the bed and various wires would allow –  for several long seconds, hiding his face in Frederich’s shoulder.

Frederich laughed softly.

“I missed you too.”

He looked up at Elizaveta over Ludwig’s shoulder, and though no words passed between them, there was a slight squeeze of their hands and they both smiled gently at each other, something light and golden settling into both their chests.

_It’s been so long, but this is like coming home._

_I love you._

_I’m pretty sure I always will._

**

Frederich was discharged from hospital a few weeks later, with instructions to rest up under care until he was back to full health and didn’t tire so easily. He, like Elizaveta, set up camp at Ludwig’s apartment, which no-one argued – Frederich had been the one to suggest it, and they weren’t about to deny him.

The instructions however had to be heavily enforced by both Elizaveta and Ludwig, especially after he discovered his old fencing swords in the basement and insisted on having a revision lesson because “these arms don’t remember it so well and I can’t let myself get rusty.”

Eventually though, he healed completely – save for a sprawling bullet scar in the centre of his chest, a painful reminder of not so pleasant days.

He moved in permanently with Ludwig, who took him in gratefully, and for the next four years he worked in the military in a secretarial position, having been honourably discharged from action for his injuries.

When filing papers got too boring for him, he resigned and moved in with Elizaveta, where he spent his time writing – filing away the memories he still recalled, filing through what remained of the diaries from across the centuries that Ludwig had kept on principal. He always claimed it was for those who might want to read them, but she knew it was for the memory that he cursed every other day for being so patchy and incomplete.

They were still happy with each other, but she would never have said that life was easy.

It wasn’t.

Age bothered him in a way it hadn’t before – when his pale blonde hair started turning grey he’d come to her shame faced and told her that the end was coming and she should just leave him now while the going was good.

She’d scoffed, told him he was thirty-five and that she’d seen worse. Like Roderich on their wedding day.

He’d laughed, and they’d forgotten about it for a while.

When dementia set in early and he started to forget more than usual – after all, human brains weren’t mean to deal with so many memories for so long – somehow he always remembered her.

“Elizaveta,” he’d whisper gently, like a drowning man who’d been given a life raft, and she would pull him close and remember the other things for him, like how he had his coffee or what paperwork he had to do.

But soon, far too soon, blonde hair faded to grey and then white, a youthful face became weathered and grew lines, and bones became frail.

She’d known this happiness would only ever be temporary, but somehow it still stung.

When the sprawling wound on his chest hurt on cold days and his legs started becoming too frail to walk without help, she stoically helped him as best she could, feeling her heart break a little when his pride and resolve weakened enough to accept her help.

She knew it was only a matter of time – and yet even after so much experience, she still hated goodbyes.

At least this one wasn’t as hard as the other two had been – and Ludwig got to say goodbye this time.

Both Ludwig and Elizaveta were at his side on his last day, his last hours filled with visits from old friends.

When his breathing started to slow and his eyes started to close, he was gripping Elizaveta and Ludwig’s hands – and when he spoke for the last time, it was a gentle murmur.

“Liz… I promise, ok? Just like I did last time… I’ll find you again. I’ll remember.”

She nodded, biting her lip and pressing one last kiss to his cheek.

“Not if I don’t find you first.”

He smiled, a crook of his lips that she’d seen a thousand times before but would never get tired of in a thousand years.

Then he turned to Ludwig, smile firmly in place.

“Ludwig… you’ve done so well. I’m so proud of you, I always will be… make sure she takes care of you while I’m gone, ok?”

He gave a little chuckle as Ludwig nodded stoically, and squeezed both their hands gently, closing his eyes.

He took a breath, giving one final grin…

Then he exhaled, and his chest didn’t rise again.

But somewhere in the world, a gentle tug at both of their awareness, both Elizaveta and Ludwig felt a child begin to cry.

They looked up at each other, catching the other’s gaze – and something akin to a smile of relief found its way onto both their faces.

This wasn’t the end.

It had just been a very long beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Whelp there it is… I don’t think it’s fantastic but it’s DONE and that’ the main thing. I think this is just a lesson to myself to always create a thorough plan before starting to write, seriously… every time I do I’m able to continue easily but as soon as I don’t this happens.  
> “This” being over a year’s worth of updates on a fic that was meant to be a late New Year’s present in 2015, I’m so sorry…   
> But I guess that’s notes for next time. Thankyou all so much for coming along for the ride and being so patient, and thankyou all so much for reading and commenting, it all meant so much!


End file.
